Mahariel
by X-Shadow.of.Darkness-X
Summary: REVISED EDITION: A Blight is upon Ferelden. A Dalish hunter must rise up and face the oncoming storm, or everything he once knew will be destroyed. Alliances will be formed, resolves will be tested and the line between right and wrong will become blurred, for nothing is as clear cut as it first appears. Mahariel/Merrill, Warden!Merrill, Mahariel/Oghren bromance
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This story will follow the general plot of Dragon Age: Origins, but I will also be including some extraneous material not seen in the game, as you will see in this chapter.**

**I will also be taking liberties with some of the lore, though in almost all cases, it will be in regards to characters, not the history of Ferelden.**

**Disclaimer:**** I do not own Dragon Age, nor the numerous Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit references contained herein.**

**Mahariel, Or, how Theron Mahariel became the Hero of the Fifth Blight**

The Brecilian Forest covered a large expanse of Eastern Ferelden. The trees stood tall and proud, sunlight filtering down through the lush, leafy canopy. Animals bounded through the undergrowth, hares, deer and wolves prowled along the floor, while all manner of birds flitted back and forth between the branches high overhead. The forest was old, full of memories, and anger. Wars had ravaged the land of Ferelden, and yet the trees had remained tall and proud.

Many a human had lost their way in this forest, disorientated by the volume of the trees, and the influence of the Fade in the areas where the Veil was thin. Legends had sprung up about the forest over the years, and few from the nearby villages ever dared to enter the domain of the Dalish Elves.

The Dalish Elves were not like their city brethren, preferring a nomadic life of secrecy to a life of servitude. They spent their lives searching for the remains of their half-forgotten lore, and were inherently mistrustful of strangers. Experts with bows, their hunters were legendary throughout Thedas, but with so few people having ever actually encountered a Dalish, their existence was often questioned.

Until now.

Theron Mahariel crept carefully through the brush, his eyes trained on the deer he had been stalking. His fist tensed around the wood of his bow as he approached, taking comfort in the familiar feel of the wood so lovingly crafted by Master Ilen. Slowly, carefully, he reached up, pulling an arrow from his quiver. He nocked the arrow, all of his senses on high alert.

While the other hunters in the clan chose to wear armour, Theron had always preferred a hooded tunic and trousers, not unlike those favoured by the Dalish mages. Made of a light green material, the clothing was far more practical for hunting, as the colouring allowed him to blend in with his surroundings, as well as move unencumbered and as silently as a shadow.

The deer had yet to notice his presence as it chewed on a clump of elfroot, blissfully unaware of the elf drawing his bow a few feet away, hidden amongst the undergrowth. Theron closed his eyes briefly, blocking out all the distractions around him; the wind whistling through the trees, a wolf howling in the distance, even his own breathing. It was him, and his bow.

He straightened up, drew back the bowstring, aimed and fired in one swift, fluid movement. The animal was helpless as the arrow hummed through the air, burying itself in the side of the deer's head. The surrounding undergrowth rustled as the deer fell to the ground, the telltale sign of smaller animals scurrying out of harm's way.

Theron checked around himself before moving to his prey. Many times, a wolf or other predator dared to claim an elf's kill, and the results were usually messy. It was always good practice to check. This time, though, Theron couldn't see any sign of danger in the immediate vicinity. He lowered his hood and knelt down, examining the deer.

The arrow had penetrated the skull cleanly, lodging itself firmly in the animal's head. Theron nodded in satisfaction, reaching down and pulling the arrow out with a sharp tug. There was the stomach-turning sound of wood scraping against bone, and then the arrow came free, a few droplets of blood flying through the air, trailing after the arrowhead.

Theron turned his head as the sound of clapping reached his ears, eyes narrowing and hands jumping toward his weapons. His clan-mate, Tamlen, approached, his pack bulging, full of meat he had collected throughout the afternoon. Theron suppressed a sigh of exasperation, relaxing as the elf drew nearer.

"Another excellent kill, brother." Tamlen said, stopping a few feet away as Theron straightened up. "What was your final count?"

Theron smirked. This was a long held tradition between the two hunters, one that had spanned at least two decades already. Every time the two of them hunted together, each would try to outdo the other on the number of kills they made. Several elders in the clan considered this competition juvenile, but Theron and Tamlen disagreed. It pushed them to be better, and in so doing, provided more food for the clan.

"Seven." Theron said, replacing the arrow in his quiver.

Tamlen nodded approvingly.

"Not bad, not bad at all." His eyes gleamed. "I, meanwhile, scored _eight_ kills."

_How convenient_, Theron thought, nodding, though a noise somewhere above his head had caught his attention. Spinning, he drew and fired an arrow upwards into a tree. There was a beat of silence, then a dull _thud_ as a crow fell to the ground, the arrow protruding from its chest.

Theron grinned as he turned back to Tamlen, stowing his bow over his shoulder.

"Eight."

Tamlen shook his head, looking down at the crow, doing his best to appear unimpressed.

"Show off." he muttered. He bent down, pulled the arrow out of the bird and tossed it back to Theron, who snatched it out of the air and replaced it in his quiver. "Come on, daylight is waning. We should get back to camp as soon as possible."

Theron looked up, noticing that the sun was indeed dipping. This deep in the Brecilian Forest, darkness would draw in quickly.

"We'd better move quickly, then. Here, help me with this." he said, motioning toward the deer.

He and Tamlen drew their hunting knives simultaneously, cutting the prime meat from the carcass with a practiced ease, wrapping the cuts in cloth before placing them in Theron's pack. When they were finished, they dragged the remains of the deer into the bushes, leaving the animal for the wolves and other predators in the forest.

"Did you hear what Junar overheard in the village?" Tamlen asked, as they made their way through the forest back to the Dalish encampment.

"No?"

"Apparently, the shemlen are planning to find and wipe out the clan." Tamlen said, loathing evident in his voice.

Theron's head snapped round. "What? Why?"

"Do they need a reason?" Tamlen asked. "We have done nothing to them, yet they still wish to kill us all. And they call us barbarians." he snorted.

Theron was silent, the dark, swirling vallaslin on his face creasing as he contemplated the issue. The relationship between the Dalish and the human village on the outskirts of the Brecilian Forest had always been cordial at best. The shemlen had always been happy enough to trade with the Elves, and Theron could think of no reason for the sudden animosity.

"Maybe it will come to nothing." he said. Tamlen merely shrugged.

"Maybe, but it wouldn't be wise to take that chance."

"Does the Keeper know?" Theron asked.

"Yes. She wants to move the clan within the week."

This was nothing new to the Dalish. For as long as Theron could remember, the clan had been almost constantly on the move, never lingering in one place for too long. It was the price the Dalish gladly paid for their freedom. It was the only way of life the elf had ever known, and he couldn't imagine living any other way.

Soon, the two hunters came to the Brecilian River, a wide, roaring rush of water that fed into the Drakon River. There were no bridges across the water, only lengths of Elf rope, fastened tightly around trees on either side. On the rare occasion that humans or other dangers preyed on the Dalish, the elves would make use of these ropes, using their extraordinary grace and balance to sprint the length of the rope and take refuge on the opposite bank, where they could rain arrows on their pursuers, safe in the knowledge that they couldn't be followed.

The two elves increased their pace, taking long, loping strides. Theron went first, pushing off his front foot and landing lithely on the rope, the material barely moving under his weight. As he ran across the rope, Tamlen followed, the elves traversing the rushing water quickly.

The rest of the short trip back was filled with the two elves exchanging stories of their kills that afternoon. As they talked, Tamlen's tales grew more and more fanciful, though Theron knew better than to question him. Tamlen was a skilled hunter, along with Theron, one of the best the Sabrae clan had to offer, and without following the elf during their hunts, Theron had no way to validate Tamlen's extraordinary claims.

Soon, their camp swam into view through the trees, the fires dotted around the site casting long, flickering shadows along the ground. Night had well and truly fallen by now within the camp, despite the relatively short distance they had had to traverse. The trees blocked out light so effectively, it could still only be early evening. In the forest, it was near impossible to tell.

Theron nodded at the scouts as they passed, the guards lowering their bows as they recognised the hunters. As soon as the elves were safely within the confines of the camp's border, the scouts returned to their ever-alert vigil, watching for signs of danger.

Theron and Tamlen made their way quickly to the food stores, depositing their catches with a grateful storemaster before going their separate ways, Tamlen toward his aravel, and Theron toward the Keeper.

"It is good to see you and Tamlen returned to us safely, da'len." Marethari said, as Theron approached. Theron bowed his head respectfully.

"Thank you, Keeper." He reached behind his back, untying a pouch and holding it out toward Marethari. "I came across these while hunting. I'm sure you and Merrill can find some use for them."

Marethari untied the small knot, peering into the pouch, running a critical eye over the herbs and plants stored within.

"Thank you, da'len. Once again, you have surpassed yourself. The clan owes you their thanks."

Theron shook his head.

"Nothing more than my duty, Keeper."

Marethari smiled, her old face wrinkling as she did so.

"Go; get yourself cleaned up. No doubt Merrill is anxious to see you."

Theron smiled slightly, bowing his head again.

"Thank you, Keeper."

Theron strode across the camp, greeting the elves he came across as he went. Reaching his aravel, Theron opened the flap that served as a door, unslinging his bow and leaning it against the frame of the vehicle, followed quickly by his quiver. His two Dar'Misu were placed on a table nearby. Reaching down, he grabbed the hem of his tunic, pulling it up and over his head.

Theron walked over to a basin of water by his bed, cupping his hands and bringing the water to his face, gasping slightly at the coldness. He was in the middle of repeating this action when a pair of slender arms wrapped themselves around his middle. Theron smiled slightly as he inhaled. He knew that scent.

"Merrill."

Merrill smiled as she pressed a kiss to his shoulder, pulling her body close to his.

"I'm glad you're safe, emma'lath." she whispered, gripping him tightly.

Theron twisted round, pressing his lips to Merrill's.

"Me too."

They remained still, each holding the other. Merrill always worried about him when he was out hunting, despite his constant assurances that he would be quite safe. It was touching, Theron thought.

"I hear the clan is to move soon." Theron said, releasing his hold on Merrill. The Keeper's apprentice nodded.

"Yes. We've lingered too long anyhow." There was a beat of silence. "Do you think the humans really will attack us?" she asked, a slight hint of fear breaking through her cool facade.

"I don't know." Theron replied truthfully, pulling a clean tunic over his head. "I don't see why they would attack us in the first place."

"But if they do, we'll be safe, won't we?" Merrill asked. "I mean, we have mine and the Keeper's magic, and you and Tamlen, the other hunters..."

"We're hunters, emma'lath," Theron said softly. "not warriors."

"Don't come that with me, Theron." Merrill said, slightly harsher than she had intended. "I've seen you, Tamlen and Fenarel, sparring together. You could all hold your own."

Theron had to admit, she had a point. Of the three of them, Tamlen was the least trustful of humans, and had requested, nay, _demanded_, that he and Fenarel train with him.

"That may be so," Theron conceded. "but the same isn't true of the rest of the clan. Besides," he said, moving to the entrance of the aravel, "it may not even come to that."

Merrill nodded, following him out into the semi-darkness.

"I hope you're right."

-x-x-x-x-x-

Several hours later, Theron and Merrill were sitting near the main campfire, listening to hahren Paivel telling the children stories. Sometimes, the stories were of the Dalish, others were stories of the Gods. Tonight, it was the story of the fall of the Dales. Theron had probably heard all of Paivel's stories a hundred times over, but the elder had such a way with words, that each time he told them, it was as though Theron were hearing them for the first time.

"Long ago, our people were slaves to the humans. Yes, slaves to a terrible empire the humans built on the darkest magic. When it fell, we became free. We built a homeland in the Dales, worshipping the Creators and rebuilding the culture and history we had lost in our long years of slavery. But the humans would not leave us be.

"They were resentful, because we would not worship their Gods, and because we put our people first. Over the years, their nations grew cold toward the Dales. In their eyes, we were blasphemers and cruel tyrants. A war erupted. The humans invaded our homeland, in the name of their one God, denouncing our sacrilegious nation.

"And so the Dales fell. They took our lands, and dispersed our people, forcing us to live in their cities, and abandon our Gods. But many of us refused to relinquish our ways. We instead chose to scatter to the winds, wandering the lands, to survive and preserve our culture. The clans stay apart, until the day the elvhenan have a homeland once more. We then shall return the old ways to our people who have lost them.

"We are the Dalish, keepers of the lost lore, walkers of the lonely path."

"We are the last of the Elvhenan; never again shall we submit." Theron breathed, as the children joined Paivel in the oath of the Dalish.

Merrill sighed lightly, leaning her head on Theron's shoulder. A little way away, Theron could see Tamlen, Fenarel and several of the other hunters talking to Master Ilen.

Theron smiled to himself as he looked around. It may be constantly moving, and it may not be Arlathan, or even the Dales, but this was home.


	2. Chapter 2

Theron awoke early the next morning, as was his custom. He shifted his body slightly, trying not to disturb Merrill, who was sleeping, wrapped within his arms. He smiled as he watched her, her warm breath tickling his chest, slow and even. He raised a hand, gently stroking a stray strand of hair away from her cheek.

In two moons, the Vunin'lath would be upon the Dalish, the Mating Day. The day when he and Merrill would finally be bonded. It would be a grand affair indeed. Only a handful of times in Elvhen history had a First and a Chief Hunter been bonded. The last instance was at least three Ages past.

Theron gently extricated himself from Merrill's embrace, smiling again as the elf made a small noise of protest, though she didn't wake. As quietly as he could, Theron set about washing, running a soapstone over his hair, cleaning it of the muck accumulated over the previous day.

When he had finished washing, he pulled on his tunic, taking care not to wake Merrill. He strapped his Dar'Misu to his hips and slung his bow and quiver over his shoulder, then slipped out of the aravel, stepping out into the dull morning light.

The first of the morning light was filtering down through the leafy canopy above, illuminating the campsite in a soft light. There was a slight chill in the air, though not unbearable. Dew glistened on the ground underfoot, the air filled with the smell of grass. A few elves were dotted around the site, despite the early hour. The crackling of fires from various aravels was the only sound in the camp, aside from the low muttered conversations of the elves.

Theron stretched his arms above his head, working out the last few kinks of sleep, then set off across the camp towards the entrance, his pace brisk. Several elves called to him in greeting, and he returned their salutations.

"Anethera, Theron." the scouts greeted him as he approached. Theron bowed his head, stopping by the lookout posts, raised platforms between two aravels, giving an unobstructed view of the surrounding forest..

"Anything to report?" Theron called up, glancing between the two elves.

"The forest is still, as it always is." one of the elves responded. "No sign of any humans, either. We're safe, for now."

Theron nodded, but his mind was racing. Just because no humans had attacked during the night, didn't mean that they weren't lying in wait somewhere in the forest. The clan would have to be cautious.

"Keep a close eye." Theron said. "We won't be truly safe until we move again."

The scouts nodded, returning their attention to the forest as Theron walked back into the camp. He and Tamlen would go out again today, just to be sure. They couldn't afford to be too relaxed about the safety of the clan.

-x-x-x-x-x-

"One... two... three... four! Good!" Theron said, disengaging. He stepped back, allowing Pol to catch his breath, twirling his daggers expertly.

The Dalish held a great deal of disdain for the City Elves, or 'flat-ears', as they were known amongst the Dalish. Pol, however, had proved to be the exception.

The young elf had staggered into their camp one day, completely out of the blue. By Theron's reckoning, the elf should have considered himself lucky he wasn't shot by one of the hunters. The Dalish did not take kindly to visitors from human settlements, especially those that were uninvited.

Pol, however, had struck a right chord somewhere with Marethari and Paivel, and had been allowed to stay. Theron was unsure as to whether it was due to his tenacity and perseverance in seeking the Dalish out, or his eagerness to reclaim his lost heritage. But he didn't care. In the short time he had been with the clan, Pol had proved himself a useful member, working hard to learn their culture and master their weapons. Today, he was practicing wielding the Dar'Misu.

Pol raised an arm, wiping a light sheen of sweat from his brow, his hair plastered to his forehead.

"Am I making progress?" he asked, breathing heavily.

Theron chuckled.

"When you first came to us, you had never even seen a Dar'Misu. You are making excellent progress."

"I'm not as good as you or the other hunters."

"No, not yet." Theron agreed. "But we have trained our entire lives. In time, you will attain that same level of skill." He twirled his Dar'Misu, settling into a ready stance. "Ready to go again?"

Pol nodded, raising his own Dar'Misu.

"One... two... three... four!" Theron counted off, matching each number with a strike. Pol blocked each one, his body twisting naturally through the motions. "Faster! One.. two.. three.. four! And again! One.. two.. three..."

Pol slipped, his guard falling momentarily. Theron twisted his blade, so as not to sever the young elf's head, the flat of the blade slapping against Pol's cheek. The elf went sprawling onto the ground, more from fear of the metal singing through the air than the force of the actual strike. His daggers were sent clattering away along the ground.

"Sorry!" Pol exclaimed, scrabbling after his daggers and scrambling to his feet.

"Don't worry about it." Theron said, shaking his head. "You're still learning. But, as a warning, were this a real duel, it would not be the flat of the blade, but the edge."

Pol opened his mouth to respond, but a commotion from the entrance to the camp had caught his attention. Theron turned, peering into the distance, trying to see what the city elf had seen.

A group of hunters were coming into camp, supporting two others, both of whom were covered in blood.

Theron's stomach knotted unpleasantly.

"Wait here!" he said, sheathing his Dar'Misu and sprinting across the camp.

He shouldered his way through the small crowd that had gathered, running a critical eye over the two blood-soaked elves. Their armour was scratched and dented in many places, and they were almost hair was slick with blood, plastered to their heads, and they were covered in a film of a white, silky, sticky substance. Their weapons were nowhere to be seen.

"Send for the Keeper!" Theron barked. One of the hunters, Orym, left the group, running to the Keeper's aravel. "What happened?" Theron asked, addressing Junar.

"Spiders." Junar replied, his breathing heavy. "Huge, like none we've ever seen. They came out of nowhere, took us completely by surprise."

Theron's eyes widened. _Giant spiders?_ The clan had been travelling the Brecilian Forest for some time, yet they had never seen giant spiders before. It seemed, despite all this time, the forest still held secrets from the Dalish. Something was clearly amiss.

Before Theron could question the hunters further, Orym returned, flanked by both Marethari and Merrill. Merrill's hands flew to her mouth as she beheld the injured elves, while Marethari's lips became a thin white line.

"Take them to my aravel! Quickly!" she ordered. The elves supporting their injured kin moved forward, but before they had taken a few steps, one of the injured slumped forward, his body going limp. The elf supporting him scooped him up easily, carrying him the distance to the Keeper's tent.

"What happened, da'len?" Marethari asked Junar.

"We were hunting, near the Forgotten Pool, when we were ambushed. Giant spiders appeared as if from nowhere, rising up out of the ground. We managed to drive them off, but Etherim and Lenya were badly injured."

"Spiders?" Marethari repeated.

"Yes, Keeper."

Marethari considered for a moment, then turned to her First.

"Merrill, see if you can help our brother and sister."

"Manuvenin, Keeper." Merrill said, bowing her head. She threw a quick glance at Theron, before turning her back and rushing back to Marethari's aravel, rummaging through her pockets for elfroot as she went.

"Theron," Marethari said, turning her attention to him. "take Tamlen and Fenarel. See what you can learn of these creatures. If possible, bring a sample back. It may help us to heal our injured."

"Yes, Keeper." Theron said, bowing his head. He signalled to Tamlen and Fenarel, who were looking at him with equal parts apprehension and eagerness. "Let's go."

-x-x-x-x-x-

"So, how is all this even possible?" Fenarel asked, as the three hunters moved between the trees, weapons held ready, eyes roaming all around for the beasts in question, lest they be ambushed as their kin were. "Giant spiders? I've never seen spiders of any size in the forest before."

"Nor I." Theron admitted, scanning the path ahead. "But, the Forgotten Pool is setheneran. Something could have leaked through the Veil, and transformed the spiders, corrupted them into the monstrous beasts described."

"You believe that?" Tamlen asked. Theron shrugged.

"It is as good an explanation as any. We have wandered these forests for years, and yet we have never come across this before. We need to know more." He glanced around at the surroundings. To an outsider, the clearing they found themselves in looked like any other in the Brecilian Forest, but the Dalish knew differently. "Come, we're nearly there."

They edged forward cautiously, peering over the embankment. Down below, the waters of the Forgotten Pool glimmered in the soft light filtering down from above. The air seemed to shimmer, the effect of the Beyond seeping into the material world. A soft breeze gently rustled the branches overhead, breaking the otherwise cold silence.

A loud hissing made all three elves spin around, raising their weapons. They watched as a hole in the ground seemed to open up, as though the earth were opening its mouth to swallow them whole. Theron sheathed his Dar'Misu, drawing his bow and nocking an arrow.

A spider emerged from the hole, monstrous in size. Its many eyes gleamed as it stared at them, its long legs scrabbling to pull its impressive weight from the earth. Its body followed, large and bulbous. Pincers clacked together, the barbs long, sharp and deadly. The creature regarded the elves for a moment, then charged, crossing the clearing at a speed that belied its size.

Theron released his grip on the arrow, the shaft humming through the air, embedding itself in the creature's eye with a loud squelch. The spider hissed angrily, rearing up on its hind legs before continuing toward them, seemingly unperturbed by the arrow sticking out of its head. Behind it, several more spiders began to emerge from the trees.

The elves released a volley of arrows, slowing the spiders, but not killing them. They backed up slowly, steadily losing ground. As Theron released another arrow, he glanced behind him. They were running out of room. They needed to go on the attack.

"Cover me!" he shouted at his companions, slinging his bow onto his back and drawing his Dar'Misu. Before Tamlen or Fenarel could question him, he charged forward, toward the oncoming spiders. He leapt at the nearest spider, landing lithely on its head. The spider hissed, trying to dislodge him, but Theron was already on the move again, springing off the spider's back and rolling along the ground. He ran forward, sliding along the ground, thrusting up with his dagger, the sharp blade piercing the underbelly of another spider. He scrambled to his feet as the spider collapsed, throwing one of his daggers at another spider, the blade burying itself firmly in the arachnid's head.

Another spider made an attempt to grab him, but Theron rolled to the side, lashing out with his remaining dagger, severing the spider's front legs. Unbalanced, the spider fell forward, hissing and spitting in outrage. Theron twirled his dagger for a moment, then plunged the blade into the top of the spider's head, twisting the curved blade savagely, silencing the monstrous insect.

He wrenched his dagger out, turning to face his next foe. He was vaguely aware of Tamlen and Fenarel, still firing arrows into the fray, but he blocked them out. He couldn't afford any distractions now.

There were only a handful of spiders left now. Most of them had arrows sticking out of them at odd angles, making them look like oversized pincushions. Their breathing was laboured, and they moved slowly, their injuries beginning to hamper them.

Theron let out a cry as something collided with his side. His dagger fell out of his grip, skittering away across the forest floor as a spider landed on top of him. He reached up, grabbing tightly to the pincers that aimed for his neck and chest. With no armour to protect him, those pincers would be deadly. Up close, he could see just how sharp these natural weapons were. He struggled, but the spider was too strong, too heavy. He was pinned to the ground, and the pincers were getting closer and closer...

The spider let out a sudden shriek, rolling off of him. Theron pushed himself up, trying to catch his breath, just in time to see Tamlen driving a Dar'Misaan into the belly of the spider. The spider made one last attempt at resistance, and died.

Tamlen wrenched the sword out of the spider with a look of disgust, wiping the blood and guts off the blade on the spider's body as Fenarel held out a hand to Theron, pulling him to his feet.

"Thank you, brother." Theron said gratefully, brushing himself off ineffectually. He grabbed his Dar'Misu from the ground before moving over to one of the dead spiders and wrenching his other dagger from the corpse. He wiped the blades off quickly, but did not sheathe his weapons. Such an act would be foolish, under the circumstances. They did not know how many the spiders numbered, nor if there were any more close by.

"Well, I guess they were telling the truth, lethallin." Tamlen said, looking around at the spider corpses littering the clearing.

Theron nodded his agreement. He crouched down, examining a body closely. As he looked at the pincers, a soft green liquid dripped onto the ground.

"Poison." he muttered, pulling a small vial from his belt and holding it against the pincer, allowing the venom to trickle into the vial. Stoppering the small receptacle, he tossed it to Fenarel, who snatched it deftly out of the air.

"Take this to Keeper Marethari, and send someone to bring one of these back to camp." he said, gesturing at the spiders. "Tamlen and I will scout out around the area, see if we can find out what's going on. Be hasty, for we know nothing of the effects of this poison."

"Ma nuvenin, brother." Fenarel said, turning and sprinting back the way they had come. Once the elf was out of sight, Theron turned to Tamlen.

"Let's split up. The sooner we find out what's happening, the better."

-x-x-x-x-x-

Tamlen moved lightly between the trees, his eyes peeled for any sign of danger. His bow was drawn, an arrow nocked, but he couldn't help wishing that Theron had come along as well. He wouldn't ever admit it to the other elf, but Theron had a far better eye for danger than he did.

The sound of snapping twigs and rustling branches alerted Tamlen, and he turned. Whatever was lurking amidst the trees, it was not an elf. Elves were nimble and light-footed; they would never crash through the forest like that, making that much noise. Whatever it was, it was likely hostile. He raised his bow, ready.

A human burst through a grove of trees to his left. Turning sharply, Tamlen drew back his bowstring, the human falling to the ground in his haste to stop. Two more emerged from the same direction, their eyes wide as they stared at Tamlen.

"It's a Dalish!" one of the men exclaimed, pointing at Tamlen.

_Very observant,_ Tamlen thought, rolling his eyes. _Where's Theron?_

"And you three are somewhere you shouldn't be." he said, addressing the humans in front of him.

"Let us pass, elf!" another human said, trying to inject some measure of bravado into his voice, though he eyed Tamlen's bow warily. "You have no right to stop us!"

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Theron moving toward them, no doubt drawn by the shouts of the men.

"No? Well, we'll see about that, won't we?" He smirked as Theron joined him, bow raised as well. "You're just in time. I found these humans, lurking in the bushes. Probably come from the village, a little scouting trip, no doubt."

"We aren't scouting, I swear!" the human closest to them cried. "Please don't hurt us!"

Tamlen snorted.

"You shemlen are pathetic." he said, circling the intruders. "It's hard to believe you ever drove us from our homeland."

"What?" one of the humans exclaimed, as the elves drew their bows tighter. "We;ve never done nothing to you Dalish! We didn't even know this forest was yours!"

"This forest isn't ours," Tamlen spat. "but you aren't welcome here anyway. You've stumbled too close to our camp. What do you say, lethallin? What should we do with them?"

Theron cast an appraising look over the shemlen in front of them. They were unarmed, and clearly terrified. They clearly were of no threat to them, but that didn't mean that they wouldn't bring people who would be a threat.

"Why are you here?" he asked, addressing the humans.

"Does it matter?" Tamlen interrupted, before the humans could answer. "They're too close to camp. This could end badly for the clan if we let them go."

"Wait!" the youngest looking human spoke. "We were only looking around some ruins in a cave not far from here."

"Ruins?" Theron asked suspiciously. "We know this forest. There are caves, certainly, but no ruins. You lie." They drew their bows back further, the wood creaking under the strain.

"No, we're not lying!" one of the men cried, digging in his pocket. "We found this, just inside the entrance! Look!" He withdrew a small stone tablet, proffering it to Tamlen.

Tamlen lowered his bow, trusting Theron to keep an eye on the humans. As he turned the stone over in his hands, his eyes roamed over the surface. It was small, but intricate designs were carved onto the face. Designs that looked familiar...

"Is this Elvish?" he wondered aloud, more to himself than to the others in the vicinity. "Written Elvish?"

"We found that just inside the entrance." one of the humans offered, his voice hopeful. "There's more deeper within, I expect. We didn't get very far in."

"Why not?" Theron asked, his eyes narrowing. The humans were now beginning to sweat, despite the relatively mild temperature.

"There was a demon!" the man said, gesticulating wildly with his hands. "Huge, with black eyes!"

"A demon." Tamlen snorted, pocketing the tablet and raising his bow again. "Where is this cave?"

"Just to the north, not far from here." the human said, pointing vaguely over his shoulder.

"Thank you." Tamlen said, glancing at Theron. "So, what do you say? Shall we let them go?"

Theron considered for a moment, his calculating gaze boring into the humans, making them shift uncomfortably on the spot. They were clearly terrified, as well as unarmed. They were no threat to them, or the clan. But that wasn't to say that they wouldn't bring back a mob to drive them out once they were let go. On the other hand, the clan was moving again soon, and these humans didn't know the exact location of their camp. If they killed them, here and now, the humans' reprisal would be swift and vicious.

"Let them go." Theron said finally, to sighs of relief from the humans. "Killing them will only bring trouble."

Tamlen sighed, and when he spoke, there was a slight, but unmistakeable note of disappointment in his voice.

"Run along then, shems, and don't come back until we've moved on." he said, as he and Theron lowered their bows.

"Yes, o-of course! Th-thank you!" The humans turned and ran, almost tripping over their own feet in their eagerness to be away. Tamlen waited until they were out of earshot before speaking.

"So, shall we see if there is any truth to their story? I must admit, these carvings make me curious."

Theron nodded.

"Sounds like a plan. If we find anything, the Keeper will want to know."

"Agreed." Tamlen said, slinging his bow onto his back. "Lead on."


	3. Chapter 3

Duncan brushed past yet another tree, pushing the low-hanging branches out of the way. The air in this part of the Brecilian Forest was thick and heavy, each breath requiring real effort to take.

He was almost regretting deciding to take this shortcut through the forest. However, the alternative would take a further five days, maybe a week. He could deal with a little discomfort.

He looked up as the sound of shouting caught his attention. He strained his ears, listening intently, but heard nothing but the sounds of the forest, and the low whispers inside his head, a byproduct of his Joining. The whispers had always been there, usually incredibly faintly, but since the beginning of this Blight, they had become noticeable, betraying the presence of darkspawn on the surface.

Hearing nothing else, he continued on, watching a sylvan move across the forest floor, taking great, immense strides. If one wasn't careful, one could easily get lost in here. He had heard the tales of the walking trees, as had most who had ever wandered near the Brecilian Forest. The Veil to the Fade was thin within the trees, and spirits had come out, inhabiting the trees, making them come alive, and even move.

After almost half an hour, or so it felt, the whispers in his head suddenly seemed to explode in volume. Despite himself, he clapped his hands over his ears, screwing his eyes shut tightly. Once they had subsided somewhat, he looked around.

The forest seemed much the same as it had done, though the atmosphere seemed to have darkened, somehow. The whispers were definitely louder than they had been. There was only one explanation.

Darkspawn had entered the forest.

Duncan concentrated for a moment, trying to pinpoint the exact location. The whispers seemed to be indicating somewhere northwest of his current position.

He glanced at the sky. The sun was beginning to dip downwards, and soon the forest would be blanketed in darkness. Still, he had a duty. Darkspawn were foul creatures; they could not be allowed to roam unchecked.

He drew his sword, and ventured into the depths of the forest.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Theron and Tamlen moved swiftly through the forest, following the directions the humans had given them, their movements soft and quick as shadows. They knew the forest, and could move quicker than the humans. They needn't worry about being blindsided by the humans they had left behind.

Both of them kept their bows drawn, arrows nocked, ready to be fired at a moment's notice. Their keen Elven hearing picked up every little noise, small creatures scurrying along the forest floor, birds flapping overhead, disturbing the branches, the wind whistling through the trees.

A large, white mass on the floor caught Theron's attention. He pulled up short, motioning for Tamlen to stop.

"Down there." he said, gesturing with his bow. "Keep an open eye; I'll check it out."

Tamlen nodded his agreement as Theron carefully inched closer, his movements close, guarded.

It was a halla. As he approached, Theron knelt down next to the beast, examining it closely. Its white coat was covered in deep red blood, pouring from large, gaping wounds in the beast's side. Theron could see white bone amidst the blood, where the flesh had been torn from the halla. The antlers were long and curved, but undecorated. This was a wild halla.

Theron sighed deeply as he stood. No creature was revered by the Dalish more. He was glad the clan's halla keeper, Maren, was not here to witness this. It was not a pretty sight.

"Theron!" Tamlen shouted.

Theron turned to see an arrow buzz through the air, knocking a large white wolf out of the air as it leapt towards him, jaws open. He ducked under the body, twisting and loosing his own arrow at another wolf emerging from between the trees.

The forest was unnaturally silent in the moments after. Theron exhaled deeply, his heart pounding in his ears as he retrieved his arrow, tossing Tamlen's back to him.

"That's a halla." Tamlen said unnecessarily as he approached, looking down at the deer with a mix of sorrow and pain in his face.

"Indeed." Theron said, nocking an arrow. "I think we know what happened to it." he continued, nudging a wolf corpse next to him.

"Do you think there are any more around here?" Tamlen asked.

Theron knelt next to the halla again, his eyes scanning the ground. It was difficult to be certain, but it definitely seemed to the elf that there were more than these two wolves feeding on the halla.

"It's certainly a possibility." he said, straightening up again. "We should move quickly." In the distance, a wolf howled at the sky, as though to underline his point.

"We can't be far away." Tamlen said as they continued along the path. "We're pretty close to the forest edge."

"Do you really think there's a demon in these caves?" Theron asked, after a few minutes of silence.

Tamlen sighed.

"In all honesty, I don't really believe that this cave exists. That tablet proves nothing."

"They had to get it from somewhere." Theron reasoned.

"True," Tamlen shrugged. "but anyone could have made it. For all we know, we're about to walk straight into a shemlen trap. We shouldn't have let them go, lethallin."

Theron resisted the urge to sigh. Of all the clan, Tamlen was perhaps the least trustful of shemlen. Theron was well aware of the fate of his father, killed by shemlen many, many years ago, but killing every human he came across wouldn't bring him back. If anyone in the clan had good reason to hate humans, it was him, not Tamlen.

"Our lives are hard enough as it is, brother. We don't need to attract more trouble unnecessarily."

"Your father was killed by shemlen, brother. Do you not thirst for vengeance?" Tamlen asked.

"No." Theron replied simply. "Vengeance will not bring him back, and I will speak no more of this matter."

Tamlen remained silent, knowing better than to force the issue. They traversed the forest terrain swiftly, eyes darting around, looking for any sign of the demon that the humans had mentioned.

"Do you believe them?" Tamlen asked. "About the demon, I mean?"

"We would be fools not to." Theron said. "Merrill and the Keeper have spoken at length about demons and other creatures of the Fade. None of them are to be taken lightly."

"Maybe we should have brought someone else along." Tamlen said, a slight note of trepidation in his voice.

"Maybe," Theron agreed. "but it's too late to turn back now. We must be almost there."

They kept moving through the forest for another five minutes when they reached a small clearing. There were a few trees dotted around, their roots snaking up out of the ground, gnarled and twisted, wrapped around each other. At the far side, two large stone pillars lay along the ground, moss growing over the cracked surface. Just beyond, a large opening was visible.

"I don't remember this being here before." Tamlen mused, bending down to examine a pillar with interest. "Have you ever seen this before?"

Theron simply shook his head. He rarely ventured this far to hunt, but this place seemed completely foreign and out of place.

"I don't think I've been here before." he said, looking around warily. "We should be cautious."

Tamlen chuckled, running a gloved hand over one of the roots.

"Always the careful one. Come on; let's check inside and see if it's worth making a fuss over."

They had barely taken a few steps, however, when Tamlen let out a yell. Theron spun, drawing a dagger in one easy motion, holding it ready.

One of the roots had seemingly grabbed Tamlen's ankle, latching onto the elf and dragging him away from his companion. The other roots were beginning to stir as well, writhing and sliding out of the ground.

"Help me, lethallin!" Tamlen cried, struggling against the plant. He tried to reach for his longsword, but another root ensnared his hand, preventing him from reaching his weapon.

Theron unsheathed his other Dar'Misu, leaping nimbly over the roots snaking towards him, slashing at them as he went. The tempered steel sliced neatly through the wood, the root falling to the ground, immobile.

He reached Tamlen, ducking under another root, slicing through the branch around his clan mate's ankle before releasing his arm in short order. Tamlen scrambled to his feet, drawing his sword.

More roots were pushing up out of the ground, as though the forest were trying to box them in. Neither elf had ever seen anything like it before.

"Inside!" Theron shouted at Tamlen, hacking through another root trying to disarm him. "Move!"

The two elves turned and ran, heading straight for the mouth of the cave. The roots struck at them, but could not follow them, instead retreating back into the earth from whence they came.

The two Dalish elves heaved great sighs of relief, though they didn't sheathe their weapons. To do so under the circumstances would be foolish.

"Well, it seems the path before us is clear. For now, we have but one choice." Theron said, peering down into the gloom of the cave. Without another word, he led the way forward, down into the depths of the cave.

The tunnel leading downwards was short, and opened into a small antechamber. The center of the chamber was dominated by four large stone pillars, each adorned with intricate patterns, though if they were words, Theron had no hope of understanding them. Cobwebs stretched between the pillars, small beads of moisture clinging to the silk. Above their heads, cocoons hung from the ceiling between large gaps, light streaming in and illuminating the chamber. Large tree roots were bursting through the stone floor, the stone around them cracked and broken.

Theron moved forward, running a hand over the strange carvings on the pillar.

"Tamlen, is this Elvish? It doesn't look like it, what little I've seen of it."

Tamlen studied the carvings carefully.

"I don't think so." he said, after a while. "It looks human."

Theron's stomach dropped slightly. While the Keeper had endeavored to teach the clan how to read human writings, Theron had never bothered to learn, not seeing the point in such an ability. He suddenly found himself wishing he had taken the time to learn. The jumble of spiky shapes looked slightly malevolent.

A hissing above him drew his attention from the pillar. He looked up, then dove to the side as a spider dropped through a hole directly above him, landing where he had been stood moments before. He rolled to his feet and drew his daggers, ready to fight.

Tamlen had already swung into action, scrambling up a large root, raining arrows down from his perch. Another two spiders dropped from the ceiling, circling around Theron. Theron ducked underneath a spider as it tried to pin him to the ground, backing away from the group. He swung his daggers, slicing through the front legs of the nearest arachnid. The spider let out a screech as it toppled forward. Theron spun his dagger in his hand before burying it in the spider's head.

He turned just in time to block another attack, his dagger sliding between a large set of pincers, holding the creature at bay while his other dagger sliced across the spider's lower body. The spider fell backwards, pulling Theron with it as he held his grip on his dagger, still lodged between the pincers. He went sprawling to the floor, kicking ferociously at the spider, trying to dislodge his dagger as the final spider approached. Abandoning the stuck dagger, Theron rolled over, lifting his remaining dagger to defend himself.

He needn't have worried.

With a yell, Tamlen leapt from the root, landing on the spider's back. The spider hissed, shaking its body, trying to remove the elf, but Tamlen's footing was sure. Drawing two arrows from his quiver, he nocked them both, pulled back his bowstring and fired the arrows into the creature's head. The spider gave one final hiss, and died.

Tamlen sighed in relief, hopping down from the spider and pulling Theron to his feet. Theron muttered his thanks, finally wrenching his dagger free with a horrible grating sound. He spun his daggers and returned them to their sheathes.

"The Veil is definitely torn here." Theron said, nudging a spider corpse with his foot experimentally. It didn't move. "Can you feel it?"

Tamlen nodded. The whole place had an unsettling air to it, a strange, dreamlike quality. This was not a safe place.

"Come on; we'd better be quick."

A large door barred the way forward. The elves approached cautiously, Tamlen reaching out with an arrow, pressing it against the wood.

Nothing happened.

The two elves exchanged a glance before Theron gripped the handle, and pushed all his weight against the door. It didn't budge. He paused for a moment, then lashed out with his foot, striking the door just below the handle.

The brute force tactic worked. The door burst open, crashing off the wall with a deafening bang that echoed around the ruin. The two elves froze, listening intently for the sound of anything approaching. Hearing nothing, they carefully stepped through the door.

They found themselves in a long hallway, a lone door at the far end. There were holes in the ceiling here too, and the elves passed under them cautiously, not wanting to be caught unawares again. The light seeping down through the portals cast a grim light upon their surroundings, serving only to increase their sense of foreboding.

A sudden gasp from Tamlen made Theron turn on the spot, hands flying to his dagger hilts. The elf was gazing in wonder at a pile of bones on the floor.

As Theron approached, he could see what had caught Tamlen's attention. Atop the pile, a longbow was laid, the wood inlaid with the same flowing script they had seen on the stone the shemlen had found. Tamlen stooped, reaching out and lifting the bow reverently, marveling at the craftsmanship that had gone into its making. He raised the weapon, pulling the string experimentally. The bow tensed immediately, the wood barely making a sound under the strain.

"This is amazing," Tamlen muttered, more to himself than to Theron. "I've never seen a bow like this, have you?"

Theron shook his head, running a hand over the wood. The bow was clearly ancient, yet time seemed not to have touched it at all. The limbs were long and curved, far more so than any bow the elves had seen before,

"Maybe the Keeper can tell us more of it." Theron said.

Tamlen agreed, slinging the bow over his shoulder. As he did so, something in the wall caught Theron's eye. Interested, he reached out, running his hand over the bare expanse of stone in front of him.

"What are you doing, lethallin?" Tamlen asked, watching the elf in concern.

"There's something here." Theron said. Carefully, he pushed against the wall. To both elves' surprise, the whole wall slid back slightly before swinging inwards.

They didn't get time to look around the room. As soon as the door opened, a corpse burst through the gloom, swinging a pair of wicked looking blades wildly. One blade was short, like a Dar'Misu, while the other was longer, reminiscent of a Dar'Misaan. It had clearly resided within the ruins a long time, as little flesh clung to its emaciated frame. Theron ducked, drawing his Dar'Misu and hacking at the corpse's leg. The corpse dropped to one knee as Tamlen fired an arrow straight through its head. The corpse fell to the ground, and didn't move again.

Sheathing his daggers, Theron knelt next to the corpse, wrenching the blades out of its grip, examining them. They were light, almost impossibly so, a long blade curving away from the handle. The metal was jet-black, yet still seemed to shine in the gloom. Like the bow, they seemed ancient, yet untouched by age. Along the blade, runes shimmered silver in the low light.

From its sheathe, Theron withdrew one of his daggers, sliding one of the black blades in in its place. It fit perfectly, as though the blade had been made for the sheathe. He nodded, and removed his other blade, replacing it and discarding his old blades.

"They look like ancient Elven blades." Tamlen commented, as Theron drew and swung the blades, testing their weight and balance. "Do you think these ruins are Elven?"

Theron considered for a moment.

"Maybe, but there's a lot of human architecture here. From what I've heard, elves didn't build like this. Maybe there are more clues further in. Either way, this is definitely something to be investigated by the clan."

-x-x-x-x-x-

Theron wiped his brow, staring down at the corpse of the bear, though 'bear' wasn't quite the word. It was larger than any bear the elves had seen wandering the Brecilian Forest, and long, bony spikes protruded from beneath its fur, covered in blood. The smell was nauseating. It smelt of death.

Theron glanced at the blades in his hands. Thanks to their newfound weaponry, they had made it to this room with ease. Despite their age, the dagger and sword were still sharp, cutting through enemies like a hot knife through butter. The bow Tamlen had picked up shot arrows through the air with devastating speed and power, one arrow embedding itself in a stone wall after a stray shot.

So far, though, the most interesting thing about the ruins had been the room they had found themselves in, not long after acquiring their new weapons. Statues adorned the walls, like a pantheon of gods, and, as they walked the room, they recognized many of them. Falon'Din, Elghar'nan, Mythal, Andruil. These were statues of the Creators, housed inside a human ruin. It made no sense. Had elves once lived with humans? Theron and Tamlen had only ever known humans to be hostile towards their people, and could not imagine any other way of living with humans.

And now, this room. Sarcophagi lined the walls, the stone they were made of chipped or even broken. And, in the center, a mirror. Flowing Elven script ran across the top, though neither elf was learned enough to read it. Unlike everything else in the room, though, it was completely untouched, undamaged by the passage of time.

"I'm surprised it isn't broken, what with that bear lumbering around in here." Tamlen said, looking at the glass in awe.

"Careful, Tamlen." Theron warned, as Tamlen edged closer to the mirror.

"Don't worry, I just want to get a closer look."

Theron could feel the evil radiating off the mirror, now the heat of battle had died away. Blood was still dripping from a gash on his arm. He wiped at it ineffectually, stepping forward with Tamlen, in spite of himself.

"What do you think this writing means?" Tamlen asked, gesturing at the script.

"'Do not touch the glass'?" Theron guessed. He had never been one to run away from anything before, but this mirror just felt... wrong.

Before he could stop him, Tamlen reached out a hand, brushing the tips of his fingers along the surface of the glass. The glass rippled.

Rippled?

"Tamlen, step away!"

But Tamlen didn't move. He stood still, as though transfixed by whatever it was he could see in the mirror.

"It's... it's showing me places." he said, staring into the mirror longingly. "Underground, a great city. There's something moving, as well..."

Theron grabbed Tamlen's arm, trying to pull him from the mirror, but Tamlen didn't budge, as though he was rooted to the ground. Suddenly, he let out a cry of fear.

"It saw me!" he cried, the muscles in his neck bunching as he tried to turn his head. "Lethallin! Help me! I can't look away!"

The glass began to glow, brighter and brighter, an all-encompassing white light. Then, without warning, the light burst outwards, throwing the two elves across the room, landing solidly on the cold, hard floor.

Pain ravaged Theron's body. He curled up, as though to ward off the pain that was exploding inside him. He couldn't see, he couldn't hear, he couldn't talk. He just lay there, wishing for an end.

How long he lay there, he had no idea. Finally summoning the strength to stand, he reached out blindly. He could not see, still blinded by the pain that continued to ravage his body.

"Tamlen? TAMLEN?!"

He heard no answer. Reaching out, he staggered blindly, trying to find an exit. His blood was searing through his veins, as if it were on fire. He dropped to one knee, forced himself on a few steps, dropped to his knees again. He had never known pain like it.

After what seemed like an Age, he fumbled his way out of the cave. Sunlight streamed down, emphasizing the dark shapes around him.

He staggered forward, and fell to the ground. The dark shapes closed in, growling and shrieking. He raised a hand, but he could barely see.

His hand fell to the floor, and he lost consciousness.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Duncan sprinted through the forest as fast as the terrain would allow. The darkspawn were near. He drew his sword, hacking through the undergrowth. He was probably making an inordinate amount of noise, but nothing appeared to be chasing him. At least, not yet.

He found himself near a large opening in the rock face. A short way away, a small group of genlocks were crowded around a bundled mass on the floor. Their weapons were raised, and they were shrieking in delight. They hadn't seen him approach.

He immediately leapt towards them, swinging his sword. The advantage of surprise was on his side, and three genlocks were felled before the others were even aware of his presence. The Blighted creatures drew their weapons back, ready to strike, but Duncan was faster, his sword singing through the air, the music of the battle echoing through the forest.

A blade clanged off of his armor. Duncan twisted, lashing out with his foot, kicking the offending genlock away and removing the head of another. He leapt toward the remaining darkspawn, running it through easily with his sword.

Duncan sighed as he sheathed his sword. He could still sense darkspawn, but they were nowhere near here. At least, not yet.

A cry of pain brought his attention to the ground a few feet away. He looked, seeing an elf writhing in agony on the ground. He hurried over, kneeling beside them.

The elf's eyes were wide, yet unseeing. His veins were darkening, in sharp contrast to his pale skin.

Darkspawn corruption.

The elf was a Dalish, made obvious by the tattoos on his young face. Corruption at this stage was beyond his ability to heal, and the Grey Wardens needed the help of the Dalish. He couldn't just leave this elf to die. He needed a Keeper.

"Can you hear me?" he asked, trying to hold the elf still. "I'm so sorry..."

His voice trailed off as the elf went limp, the rising and falling of his chest the only indication that he was still alive.

Duncan slipped his arms under the elf, picking him easily off the ground and slinging him over his shoulder. He could only hope the elf's clan wasn't too far away.


	4. Chapter 4

He was in a vast, lifeless space. Shadows prowled at the edge of his subconscious. He walked and walked, but never came anywhere. Pain burned through him. He lay on the ground, staring into the black abyss above.

It seemed like an eternity. Time had no hold here in this desolate place in which he found himself. He was naked, but did not feel the chill. He did not hunger or thirst. He simply, was.

A light blossomed from the darkness. Bright, shining. A beacon of hope. He turned, walking toward it. As he drew closer, the pain lessened. He kept walking, and walking, and walking...

Theron woke with a start, sitting up straight in bed.

In bed?

The last thing he remembered was staggering through the forest, the pain burning through his body. As he came to, he became aware of the pain again, but it was a dull ache, barely noticeable. He looked down at his body. The numerous cuts and bruises he had sustained during his and Tamlen's exploration of the ruins were gone.

Tamlen!

He swung himself off the bed, looking around the aravel wildly, but saw no sign of his best friend, only his clothes and weapons, folded and stacked neatly by the door. He pulled them on hurriedly, sheathing the curved blades at his hips.

He stepped out into bright sunlight. He held his hand up to shield his eyes as he looked around. Everything looked much the same, but the atmosphere was completely different. The elves' faces were drawn with worry, and hunters rushed backwards and forwards. It didn't bode well.

"Theron!"

Theron turned at the sound of his name being called to see Fenarel rushing over to him.

"By the Gods' own luck, lethallin," Fenarel said in relief. "the Keeper wasn't sure you'd recover. How are you feeling?"

"Where's Tamlen?" Theron demanded, ignoring Fenarel's question.

The elf's face confirmed Theron's fear before he even opened his mouth to give his answer.

"We don't know." Fenarel replied sadly. "We've had teams of hunters scouring the forest, but we've found nothing so far."

"How did I get here?"

"A shemlen brought you here. He turned up out of the forest two days ago, carrying you over his shoulder, and then took off again, back between the trees he emerged from."

Only one part of this sentence resonated with Theron.

"Two days?!"

Fenarel nodded.

"Indeed. Keeper Marethari has been using the Old Magic to keep you alive, though she fears for Tamlen, as do we all. She wished to see you once you awoke. Wait here; I'll go and fetch her."

Fenarel scurried off, leaving Theron alone with his thoughts. Tamlen was still missing? And Marethari using Old Magic to keep him alive? From what little Merrill had told him, the Old Magic was powerful, used by the elves of Arlathan. If the Keeper had to resort to such arcane and forgotten arts to keep him alive, he didn't want to think of Tamlen's fate. He had to find his friend.

The sound of footsteps approaching made him look up. Marethari was approaching, closely followed by Merrill, who rushed ahead as he looked up, pulling him into a tight embrace. Theron could feel her tears rolling down her cheek, her thin frame shuddering as she sobbed with relief.

"I'm okay," he whispered, holding her close. "I'm fine."

"It is good to see you finally awake, da'len," Marethari said, as Merrill released him, though still keeping a tight grip on his arm, as though afraid he would disappear were she to let go. "The clan has been worried about you."

"What happened to me?" Theron asked, hoping to get some answers from the Keeper.

Marethari sighed.

"Actually, we were hoping you could tell us." she replied. "What is the last thing you remember?"

Theron closed his eyes for a moment. The events that had occurred within the ancient, crumbling ruins were all such a blur. He remembered the pantheon of Gods, the great corrupted bear, the mirror...

"I remember a mirror." he said finally, opening his eyes. Marethari frowned, her eyebrows knitting together.

"A mirror? And it caused all this?" She sighed as she turned away. "I was hoping for answers when you awoke, but there are only more questions. And Tamlen remains missing. He is more important than any lore in these ruins. If he is as sick as you, his condition is grave indeed."

"I want to join the search for him." Theron said immediately. Marethari's eyes crinkled as she smiled.

"I was hoping you would say that, da'len."

"Are you sure that's wise, emma'lath?" Merrill asked. "You've only just recovered, after all."

"I warned Tamlen not to touch the mirror." Theron said. "It's my fault this occurred. I must right this."

"You did nothing wrong, da'len," Marethari said gently. "and if you feel up to it and you wish to join the search, I will not stop you."

"Thank you, Keeper." Marethari smiled at him. "Fenarel said a human brought me here?"

"Yes. Duncan, of the Grey Wardens."

"A Grey Warden?" Theron repeated. Like most of the clan, he had heard stories of the Grey Wardens, and respected their skill and status. However, he couldn't understand why a Grey Warden was wandering through the Brecilian Forest. He voiced this concern to Marethari.

"He was on his way to Ostagar, the old human citadel on the edge of the Korcari Wilds to the South." the Keeper explained. "The Blight is rising in the South, so all Grey Wardens are needed. He said he would be continuing on, once he had investigated the disturbance in the forest."

The news of the Blight disturbed Theron. Of all the peoples of Ferelden, the Dalish were perhaps the most at risk. They had no fortresses to retreat to, no large military force. They had to find Tamlen as soon as possible, and move as far north as possible. They could not outrun the Blight, but they could keep it at bay for as long as possible.

"We need to find Tamlen." Theron said firmly, his tone brokering no argument.

"Agreed." Marethari nodded. "Take Merrill into the forest with you."

Theron's head snapped round, sure he had misheard.

"No. I will not endanger Merrill like that."

"Believe me, da'len, I do not wish to endanger her any more than you do." Marethari said sympathetically. "But her magic is strong, and she knows how to cure this sickness. You will be safer with her along."

Theron turned to Merrill.

"Do you agree with this?" he asked. Merrill nodded firmly.

"I almost lost you once, emma'lath." she said. "I refuse to lose you again."

Theron sighed. He could not argue against the combined will of the Keeper and her First.

"If this is what you wish..."

"It is." Marethari said. "Speak with Master Ilen should you need supplies, then you should head out as soon as possible. Before you go, though," she added, glancing at the blades on Theron's back. "do you know what those blades are?"

"No, Keeper." Theron admitted. "I found them inside the ruins, and I thought you would find them interesting."

"I do." Marethari said. "Those are Arlathan Blades, forged by our immortal ancestors. Upon their creation, they were imbued with magic, so that the blade may never dull, and the edges of the steel resist all damage, and remain keen as the day they were made. They were used by Emerald Knights for centuries."

Theron drew the Arlathan Blades, looking at the dagger and sword with newfound awe. Right here, in his hands, were real pieces of Elvhen history. Almost regretfully, he spun them in his hands, proffering them to Marethari.

"Then, these rightfully belong to you, as a Keeper of the lost lore."

Marethari smiled at him.

"Keep them, da'len. I feel you may need them more than the clan."

Theron knew he should protest, insist that the Keeper take them, but he couldn't bring himself to do so. Not to mention, Marethari's gut instincts were generally right, though he didn't want to think about why he would need them. He sheathed the blades at his waist again, with a gracious "Ma serannas, Keeper."

Marethari smiled again, gesturing towards Master Ilen's aravel.

"I asked Ilen to construct the proper sheathes. He should have completed them by now."

Theron's eyes widened.

"You foresaw this?"

"I did." Marethari nodded. "Now, go! Tamlen is more important than any lore in these ruins. Find our lost son, Mahariel. But hurry! The day grows old, and the longer we wait, the further Tamlen moves from our help. Be wary. Duncan said that darkspawn lurk in the forest."

"Darkspawn?" Theron asked, eyes narrowing. "I thought you said the Blight was rising in the South. These darkspawn are a long way from their kin."

"Indeed," Marethari agreed. "but it would be unwise to ignore a Grey Warden on such matters. Go, Mahariel. Return Tamlen to us."

Theron bowed before hurrying across the camp toward the craftsman's aravel, Merrill close at heels.

"Aneth ara, Master." Theron said, bowing his head as he approached.

"Ah, Mahariel! I am glad to see you up again. The Keeper was afraid we would lose you."

Theron chuckled.

"Not this time, Master." He paused, wondering how best to approach the topic of the sheathes Marethari had mentioned. Ilen, however, beat him to it.

"The Keeper asked me to construct something for you. I have it inside. One moment."

He ducked inside, returning moments later with a bundle of leather in his arms.

"I had never thought to craft the arts of our ancestors." Ilen said, stroking the leather reverently. "It is indeed an honor. Come, I'll show you how to properly fit them."

While the sheathes certainly looked intricate and complex, fitting them around his body took Theron and Ilen very little time. Once fitted, Theron twisted his body experimentally, before sliding the Arlathan Blades easily into the sheathes situated by his hips. The construct of the sheathes made the Blades feel almost completely weightless, as well as allowing him complete freedom of movement. Nodding in approval, he swung his bow onto his back.

"Thank you, Master Ilen. You honor me with your craft."

Ilen shook his head, smiling broadly.

"The honor is mine, young Mahariel. Now, is there anything else you need?"

Theron quickly rifled through Ilen's collection of arrows, flexing a few experimentally, finally picking up two handfuls of elf-flight arrows and depositing them in his quiver.

"Dareth shiral, da'len." Ilen intoned as Theron and Merrill made their way to the edge of the camp. They were just about to leave when a voice rang out across the camp, catching their attention. They turned to see Fenarel sprinting toward them, fully equipped with weapons and armor.

"I am glad I caught you, lethallin." Fenarel said, glancing at Merrill. "I heard the two of you are returning to the ruins to search for Tamlen."

"That's right." Merrill said warily, her tone guarded.

"I want to come with you." Fenarel said immediately. "I never should have left you and Tamlen, Theron. This is my doing, and I want to make it right."

Merrill's eyes narrowed.

"We are supposed to go alone, Fenarel." she said. "If the Keeper did not send you, you should not come."

Fenarel turned to Theron then, pleading in his eyes. Theron sighed. He knew the answer Fenarel sought, but...

"I have to agree with Merrill, Fenarel." he said. "We have already lost Tamlen to these accursed ruins, and even now, I still feel the sickness in my veins. I will not allow you to risk yourself like that."

"That isn't your choice to make, lethallin." Fenarel argued. "Tamlen is my friend too, and I want to help."

Theron exhaled wearily, placing a hand on Fenarel's shoulder.

"I know you do, but the clan's safety is important. We cannot risk you contracting this illness as well."

"It is a risk I am willing to take." Fenarel said firmly, his eyes flitting between Theron and Merrill, searching for a weakness in their resolve.

"But I am not." Theron replied, equally firmly. "The Keeper did not ask you to go, and I will not go against her wishes. Please, Fenarel. Please, stay here. Do not look to follow us."

Fenarel's nostrils flared, and he looked to be on the verge of arguing further. However, he relented, visibly deflating as he did so.

"Fine, I will stay." he said defeatedly. "But make sure the two of you come back safe. I wanted to come along to protect you, and I would never forgive myself for not arguing further if one of you were to die now."

Theron nodded, smiling appreciatively.

"Ma serannas, lethallin." he said. "We should go." he said, turning to Merrill. "We have wasted enough time already."

Fenarel bowed his head respectfully as Theron and Merrill walked towards the edge of the camp. Theron and Merrill were his oldest and closest friends, along with Tamlen. He couldn't bear the thought that something would happen to them. He had already lost Tamlen, he didn't want to lose them as well. With a Blight on the horizon, and coming closer every day, there would be a great deal of loss in the coming days.

Theron nodded at the scouts as they approached. The scouts snapped to attention as the senior clansmen approached, though their grips were still tight on their bows.

"How is the forest?" Theron asked Junar.

"Quiet." the scout replied, adjusting his grip on his bow in his hand. "Too quiet. Be careful, lethallin, other scouts have reported seeing foul creatures among the trees."

"Darkspawn?" Merrill asked.

"Possibly." came the reply. "But we have no idea what was awoken in those ruins. We have sent teams to search, but so far none have found them. May the Creators watch over you."

"May the Creators watch over us all." Theron replied. He inclined his head to the rest of the scouts, then he and Merrill stepped out of the boundaries of their camp into the forest, and whatever darkness awaited them between the trees.


	5. Chapter 5

Junar had been right. The forest did feel unnaturally quiet. No sound penetrated the trees, no breeze ruffled the branches overhead. The entire forest felt... ill. Having lived in the forest for several years, Theron could feel the forest's pain.

"I don't like this." Merrill said quietly as they walked.

"Me neither." Theron admitted, his hand clasped tightly around his bow, his other hand hovering at his quiver, fingertips twitching towards the arrows held within.

"Do you think we'll find Tamlen?"

"I don't know." Theron said, eyes scanning the forest ahead. "He actually touched the mirror. He could be in far worse shape than I was." He didn't particularly want to entertain that possibility.

They walked on in silence. Every now and then, Merrill would bring them to a stop, pressing herself up against a tree and listening intently.

"This makes me nervous." she said, after the fifth time she had done this. "Normally, the trees are quick to help, but now, they are silent. They are scared."

"The Grey Warden mentioned darkspawn." Theron said. "Could they be the cause?"

"I've read little about darkspawn." Merrill said. "The Keeper's scrolls mention them scarcely. The little I have read suggested that they transfer the taint through their blood. Trees do not have blood like we do. No, there is something greater in this forest that makes the trees afraid."

"Like what?" Theron asked, though part of him didn't really want to know.

"I don't know." Merrill replied. "There are so few things in this world that could make the trees act like this. We do not want to meet any of them, that is for certain."

Theron glanced to his left. Just beyond the line of trees, he could make out the small clearing where he, Tamlen and Fenarel had engaged the giant spiders. Maybe, just maybe, Tamlen had somehow found his way back there. The chances were remote, but there was still a chance.

"This way, come on." he said, leading Merrill across and into the clearing.

As soon as they entered the clearing, Theron knew it was no good. The scene was almost exactly the way it had been left. The only difference was the decaying bodies of the spiders, and the bones scattered about, presumably the work of wolves.

"This is useless, let's go."

As they turned, they heard it. A great howl sounded in the distance. Instantly, Theron had an arrow nocked, his bow held ready, ears straining to hear anything through the heavy silence.

The howl sounded again, closer this time. Merrill raised her staff, magic sparking at her fingertips.

A heavy footed padding reached their ears, picked up by their keen hearing. It stopped, then continued, moving further away again.

"What was that?" Theron breathed as he lowered his bow.

"That was no mere wolf. No, it was something that ought not to be here." Merrill answered, stowing her staff. "We should be cautious."

They continued to pick their way through the trees, listening intently, but hearing nothing. In the quiet, their light footsteps and the sounds of their breathing sounded deafening.

Soon, they reached the clearing where he and Tamlen had encountered the humans. Theron looked around expectantly, but saw nothing. No sign of shemlen, but no sign of Tamlen either.

"There's nothing here." Theron said, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice and barely succeeding. "We aren't far from the ruins. This way."

They had barely walked ten feet when an arrow buzzed through the air, bouncing off the rock face next to the two elves. Theron span round, raising his bow, looking for the source of the shot.

Across a yawning chasm in the middle of the forest, two small creatures were fitting arrows into their bows while another ran around the edge of the drop, swinging two short daggers wildly. They were short, about the same height as a durgen'len, a dwarf, though their ears were pointed, like an elf's. Their heads were completely bare, and their skin was a sallow, yellow color. Dark veins stood out in sharp contrast to their skin, and the little armor they wore was covered in spikes.

Another arrow whizzed toward them, missing them by an inch. Theron raised his bow and loosed his own arrow, watching in satisfaction as the shaft buzzed through the air and embedded itself in the creature's neck. Beside him, Merrill loosed a ball of fire from her staff. The ball of flame flew through the air, engulfing the other archer in flames. The creature let out a shriek as it was consumed in fire.

By now, the final creature had reached them. Theron swung his bow onto his back, drawing the Arlathan blades from their sheathes, twisting to parry the creature's strike. The creature attacked again, this time aiming for his head. Theron blocked with one blade, swiping the other across the creature's neck in one swift strike. The creature fell, black blood spurting from its neck.

Theron exhaled deeply, holding up the blades. As he watched, the blood coating the steel seemed to fizzle before disappearing, leaving them as spotless as they had been when he had found them. Impressed, he sheathed them again, prodding the creature at his feet with his toe. It didn't move.

"What were those things?" Merrill asked, slightly breathlessly. "Were those darkspawn?"

"That would make sense." Theron said. Stooping, he picked up the arrow the darkspawn had fired at them. The entire shaft was black, including the fletchings. The tip was barbed, short spikes of metal protruding at odd angles. There was no doubt in Theron's mind that the arrow would have been deadly, had it found its mark. It was designed to cause maximum damage on the way in, as well as on the way out.

"I've never seen anything like them before." Merrill continued, staring at the darkspawn on the ground. "You can smell the evil on them."

She was right. Theron hadn't noticed before, but a horrible stench was coming from the darkspawn. It smelt like burning flesh.

"We should get moving."

-x-x-x-x-x-

Duncan wiped his sword on the body of a nearby genlock, smearing the black, congealed blood over its skin. He grabbed his water skin from his belt, taking a long draught.

As far as he could tell, the darkspawn had come out of these ruins. Yet he had searched the ruins for over an hour, and had found no sign of any darkspawn tunnels. It was as though they had simply... appeared.

He stepped forward cautiously, gazing warily in front of him. Very little natural light entered these ruins, casting a gloomy light over everything within.

A door to his left caught his attention. Something about it seemed to be calling to him. Cautiously, he pushed the door open.

It was immediately clear to the Warden Commander that this room had been the site of combat. Corpses littered the floor, skeletal beings, clothed in rags. By the door, the body of a Blighted bear, a Bereskarn, lay soaked in its own blood. That wasn't the most interesting object, however. That title belonged to a large mirror, dominating the room. Flowing script wrapped around the top, and the glass seemed to hum.

Duncan stepped forward, scrutinizing it closely. He had seen only a few mirrors like this, mainly in Tevinter, though the majority he had seen only in Grey Warden writings.

He was about to move to the glass when a piercing shriek rent the air. Duncan spun on the spot, his hands jumping to his weapons. The door burst open, and genlocks poured through, shrieking and waving their weapons with wild abandon.

Duncan bared his teeth, and charged forward.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Theron and Merrill made it to the entrance to the cave in relatively short time, encountering only a few more darkspawn along the way, each foul creature being despatched quickly and efficiently. When they got to the entrance of the cave, however, they pulled up short.

The entire area was blackened, scorched and charred as though a great fire had torn through the place. Bodies lay littered on the ground, burnt beyond recognition. Merrill raised a hand to her mouth as she saw a few pieces of Dalish equipment lying around, bows and pieces of armor. Only one thing caught Theron's attention, though.

Lying a short way from the cave entrance, a bow lay on the ground. He approached slowly, as though expecting the corpses to rise up. When they didn't, he knelt, reaching out and picking the bow up off the ground, running his hands along it.

There was no doubt in Theron's mind about it. This was the same bow that Tamlen had found in the cave. The markings along the boughs were the same. He looked around eagerly, hoping to find some other trace of the missing elf. His gut clenched, for he saw nothing.

"What is it?" Merrill asked, walking over to him.

"Tamlen found this inside the ruins." he said quietly, turning it over in his hands.

Merrill reached out tentatively, taking the bow from Theron. She looked it over carefully.

"I think this came from Arlathan."

"How can you be sure?"

She gestured at the script on the bow.

"This is ancient Elvish. It's a prayer, for accuracy and protection. Keep it; we'll show it to the Keeper."

"Tamlen could still be here." Theron said, discarding his longbow and replacing it with the Arlathan bow. "Let's look around inside."

"Are you okay?" Merrill asked suddenly.

"I'm fine," Theron said confusedly. "Why do you ask?"

"It's just... you look a little pale."

"It's probably just the exertion." Theron said. "Let's just keep going."

"Probably," Merrill agreed. "but I'll keep an eye on you all the same. You have only just recovered from your illness."

They cast one final look around them, and set off into the ruins once more.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Inside, the ruins were much as Theron remembered, though with the addition of several darkspawn corpses littering the floor. Black blood pooled around the corpses, much of it still wet.

"I think the Grey Warden is here." Merrill said quietly, examining the wounds on the bodies. They were measured and precise, the result of a skilled swordsman, not the mere infighting of brutes.

"I think so too." Theron said, drawing his bow and nocking an arrow. "Maybe he found Tamlen. Let us hurry and begone from this foul place."

They moved forward at a rapid pace, dodging the corpses on the floor and doing their best to ignore the smell. Every so often, Theron was sure he saw something moving in the corner of his eye, but it was always nothing.

Soon, they were in the room containing the statues of the Creators. Merrill looked around in awe.

"This is amazing. By the look of them, these statues date back to the time of Arlathan." She frowned slightly. "But these ruins look human, and I've never read anything that said elves ever lived in caves."

Theron's head snapped round as something moved in the shadows. This time, he had definitely seen something. Merrill, still absorbed in the statues, didn't notice.

A darkspawn hurtled through the air towards Merrill, long fangs bared, daggers held ready. Before she could react, Theron whipped the bow up, loosing the arrow at the darkspawn. The arrow sped through the air with incredible speed, burying itself in the darkspawn's head, arresting the creature's momentum and hurling it across the floor.

Theron looked in wonder at the bow. It was a shortbow, yet it fired with a speed, power and precision that his longbow did not possess. It was an incredible feat of craftsmanship. He had seen Tamlen wield it, but had not experienced it for himself. He found himself having a newfound awe for the elves of Arlathan.

He did not have long to admire the bow, however. The door at the far end of the hall burst open and darkspawn piled through in a seemingly unending wave. He brought the bow up again, firing arrow after arrow into the oncoming horde. Darkspawn fell under the bow's power and his own unerring accuracy, yet more still came.

He stowed the bow, drawing his blades as two darkspawn approached. He blocked the attack of one as he pierced the heart of another before twisting and decapitating a third. Merrill had backed into a corner, a Fade shield erected around herself, shooting fireballs at all the darkspawn she could see.

Theron knocked a darkspawn dagger aside, using it to impale another darkspawn. As he did so, he could see the darkspawn's skin bubbling where the blade had made contact.

_The blades have been laced with some kind of poison,_ he realized. He ducked under another blow, slicing through the darkspawn's arm before removing its head, twisting to intercept another attack.

"Theron! Get down!" he heard Merrill cry over the din of battle. Theron immediately dropped to the floor, just as a massive inferno erupted above him, consuming the remaining darkspawn. He could feel the scorching heat above him, and closed his eyes tightly, protecting himself as best he could.

When the flames had finally died down, he pushed himself to his feet. Looking around, he could see one final darkspawn staggering across the room, flames still licking up and down its body. He drew his bow and shot it through the neck, putting it out of its misery.

"Where did they all come from?" Merrill wondered aloud, as Theron walked throughout the room, retrieving his arrows.

"Maybe they followed the Grey Warden here?" Theron suggested, tugging on an arrow embedded deep in a darkspawn skull, finally pulling it free with an unpleasant squelch.

"Maybe," Merrill said, looking slightly nauseated at the sound. "but you would think he would have noticed that many. Maybe it had something to do with the mirror?"

"The mirror room is not far from here." Theron said. "Maybe the darkspawn took Tamlen hostage."

"They don't seem like the type to take hostages." Merrill said, hating the words even as she said them. "But it's our best shot. Lead on, emma'lath."

-x-x-x-x-x-

Theron wiped sweat from his brow as he yanked his blade free of the darkspawn mage. He didn't know if it was the sickness, but he seemed to tire quicker than he had done a few days ago.

He looked over to see Merrill downing a lyrium potion, grimacing at the taste.

"Just through here." Theron said, gesturing at a door behind him. Merrill nodded, discarding the empty flask and hurrying forward. Theron pushed the door open.

There was already someone in the room.

But it wasn't Tamlen.

A human stood in the centre of the room, looking up at the mirror with interest. Around him, dark blood was pooled on the floor, darkspawn corpses lying in heaps. The human himself was tall and dark-skinned, clad in silver armor. On his back were a longsword and dagger. As he turned to look at them, Theron could see a griffon crest on the chest piece of his armor. His dark beard was neatly trimmed, and his hair had been pulled back into a small ponytail at the back of his head. He looked to be Rivaini, or possibly Antivan.

"So it was you." he said, his voice deep and powerful. "I thought I heard combat." He looked the two elves up and down, frowning as he looked at Theron. "You are the elf I found outside the cave, aren't you?"

"Then I am to assume that makes you Duncan?" Theron replied, eyeing the human warily. He had had very little interaction with humans before, and was unwilling to let his guard down, particularly around a human who was both armed and armored.

"I am." Duncan said, smiling slightly. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you."

"Andaran atish'an, Duncan of the Grey Wardens." Merrill said, bowing slightly. Clearly, she had fewer reservations than Theron. "I am Merrill, the Keeper's apprentice."

"Did your Keeper send you after me?" Duncan inquired. "I told her I would be fine."

"We are trying to find our clan mate." Theron said. "However, we did know tat you would be here."

"You seek another elf?"

Theron's heart leapt.

"You've found Tamlen?"

Duncan sighed.

"Sadly, no." He looked at the elves with sorrow in his eyes. "I found only you two days ago. I came back to examine this mirror."

"Do you know what it is? Maybe we could use it to help find Tamlen." Theron said.

Duncan opened his mouth to speak, but Merrill cut across him.

"It's an eluvian." she breathed, looking at the mirror in wonder.

"An eluvian?" Theron asked. Duncan looked at her curiously.

"They were used for contact, back in the time of Arlathan." she explained. "I don't know what happened to this one, though."

"I can answer that." Duncan said. He had thought the mirror was Tevinter in origin, but he decided to defer to the Dalish mage on this matter. It was in Elven ruins, it made sense for it to be an Elven artifact. "The darkspawn taint corrupts everything. This mirror must have been corrupted some time ago. Tamlen's touch must have released it."

"We must find Tamlen." Theron said firmly. "The Keeper can cure this taint. We have to get him to the clan as soon as we can."

"The Keeper has not cured the taint in you, only slowed its progress." Duncan said. "Even now, I can sense the taint within you. Without help, you will slowly sicken and die."

"Then we must find Tamlen!"

"There is no use. He has been tainted for three days now, unaided. He is beyond the help of any."

"There must be something we can do?" Theron asked pleadingly. He refused to leave Tamlen behind, even if he were only a body now.

"Let me be very clear; there is nothing you can do for him. He is beyond even the aid of the Grey Wardens." Duncan said, his eyes full of compassion.

"What – what happens when you succumb to this taint?" Merrill asked quietly, as though she didn't really want to hear the answer.

"You die." Duncan said simply. "And if you do not, you will become like the darkspawn themselves. There is nothing you can do for Tamlen."

"If the mirror caused all this," Merrill said. "surely it could be used to cure the taint."

"No, it cannot. The only thing that can cure the taint is to become a Grey Warden. The mirror is a pestilence. It must be destroyed."

Before the elves could argue, Duncan turned, drawing his sword. He leapt up the steps, readying his sword. Merrill cried out, but it was useless. Duncan swung his sword, bringing the blade crashing against the mirror. The was a blinding flash of light and the sound of rushing wind, and it was over. Large shards of glass lay on the floor at Duncan's feet. He looked the mirror over, nodded approvingly and turned back to the elves.

"It is done."

Merrill was seething.

"That mirror was an important Elven relic!" she cried. "We could have used it!"

"No, the mirror would have poisoned you and your clan, and no doubt attracted the darkspawn.." Duncan replied, with an air of finality. "I am sure you do not wish to bring the Blight down upon your clan. It is safer this way." He looked at Theron. "We should return to your camp. I must speak with your Keeper immediately."

"We are not leaving without Tamlen." Theron replied, his eyes daring the Grey Warden to argue.

"I have told you, you will find nothing." Duncan replied evenly.

"We are not leaving without Tamlen." Theron repeated, a hand wandering to his dagger hilt.

Duncan was silent for a moment. Finally, he sighed.

"I will wait outside. Search if you must, but you will find nothing."

Duncan passed by the two elves, leaving them alone once again.

"They searched the ruins for another hour, but, as Duncan promised, they found nothing.


	6. Chapter 6

The sun was still high in the sky when Theron, Merrill and Duncan reached the Dalish elves' encampment. As they walked through the camp, heads turned to stare at Duncan, some curious, others outright hostile. Some of the elves who had not seen Duncan bring Theron back two days previous reached for their weapons, hands held ready, watching for any sudden movement from the human.

Duncan did not seem at all phased by the less than welcoming atmosphere. He held great respect for the Dalish, and understood the reasons for their distrust of humans. He held himself in a relaxed stance, keeping his hands clasped behind his back, away from his blades as the two young elves led him through the camp to Keeper Marethari's aravel.

"I see you have returned, yet without Tamlen." Marethari noted when they approached. "Am I to assume the worst?"

"Duncan says we will find nothing." Theron said. "We searched, but found only his bow." He reached behind him, drawing his bow and showing it to the Keeper.

"I am assuming you found this within the ruins as well?" Marethari asked, taking and scrutinizing the weapon closely.

"We did."

"This is a Bow of the Elvhar, da'len." Marethari said, handing the bow back to Theron. "The Elvhar were the warriors of Arlathan. If the writings we have gathered are true, they made formidable opponents on the field of battle. Use it well, child."

"You will not keep it?" Theron asked. First the Blades, now the Bow?

"I must speak with your Keeper, and I believe the conclusion will require you to have all the help you can get." Duncan said, before Marethari could reply. "Do not be so quick to discard such a gift."

"Duncan speaks truth, da'len." Marethari said. "Before I speak with him, however, I would know of what happened to the mirror."

"I can answer that, Keeper." Duncan said, stepping forward. "I have destroyed it."

Marethari's eyes flashed.

"I intended to use it to find a cure for this sickness. I trust you had good reason?"

"There is much to discuss, Keeper." Duncan said calmly. "Sooner, rather than later. I have learnt much since I was last here."

Marethari's eyes narrowed for a moment before she turned to look at Theron.

"Very well. Tell hahren Paivel to prepare a service for Tamlen. Come seek us at my aravel later."

Yes, Keeper." Theron said, bowing first to Marethari, then to Duncan. He and Merrill turned, walking across the camp.

"Go, speak to the hahren." Merrill said. "I will be in my aravel. I... need a minute."

They kissed lightly before their paths diverged, Theron heading for the largest fire pit in the camp.

Paivel was there, surrounded by several Elven children. He looked up and smiled as he saw Theron approach, though the smile quickly slipped off his face as he saw Theron's expression. He dismissed the children, rising to greet Theron.

"So, you return without Tamlen, should I assume the worst has come to pass?"

"The Grey Warden says we will not find him, but I am not so sure. My gut tells me that he is still alive. Even so, he is beyond our help now." Theron said, his head dropping. "It's my fault; I failed the clan."

Paivel reached out, gripping Theron's shoulder comfortingly.

"You did no such thing, da'len. I am sorry, as are we all." He sighed, looking at the fire before them. "Fate, it seems, has decreed that I sing the dirge for those I once held in my arms as babes. I think I know why our immortal ancestors would sleep." He stepped forward, singing softly under his breath. It was a tune Theron only vaguely recognized, having heard it only a handful of times before.

_Swiftly do stars burn a path across the sky,_

_hastening to place one last kiss upon your eye._

_Tenderly, land enfolds you in slumber,_

_softening the rolling thunder._

_Dagger, now sheathed; bow, no longer tense._

_During this, your last hour, only silence._

Theron bowed his head and closed his eyes as the elder finished. When he opened them again, Paivel was standing in front of him.

"The Keeper asks that you prepare a service for Tamlen." Theron said, his voice cracking slightly.

"Of course, of course." Paivel said gently. "We have no body to return to the soil, but we shall still sing for Tamlen."

"Thank you, hahren."

Paivel smiled sadly at him.

"You are welcome, da'len. Go; rest. You must recover your strength before the clan moves on again."

Theron nodded gratefully, bowing to the aged elf before turning and walking to Merrill's aravel.

Merrill was inside, her head held in her hands. Theron sat down quietly next to her, placing one arm around her shoulders.

"I cannot believe he is truly gone." Merrill said quietly between sobs.

"We should have done more." Theron said. "Searched a wider area, set out quicker..."

Merrill placed a finger to his lips, silencing him.

"You did all you could." she said. "Some things are just the way they are, and we have no control over them." She sighed, wiping her eyes. "I just cannot imagine life without him now."

"We have forty years of memories of him." Theron said. "We must be grateful for that."

Merrill nodded, burying her face in the crook of his shoulder.

Theron held her tightly, lending silent comfort as best he could. The three of them had always been close, along with Fenarel. They had grown up together, even gotten their vallaslin at the same time. He could remember Tamlen and Fenarel competing with each other to get the most elaborate and intricate designs possible. He chuckled slightly in spite of himself. Marethari had not been impressed with that particular competition.

He had learnt to wield a bow, daggers and swords with Tamlen, sparring whenever they had a spare moment. Their contests while hunting, to see who could get the most kills. That would never happen again. Sure, he could convince Fenarel or perhaps Lillaethe to join in the competition, but it wouldn't be the same.

He sat with Merrill for a long time. Neither had any idea of how much time had passed. They each sat, with each other and the memories of their fallen friend.

After some time, the flap to the aravel opened, and Pol stuck his head in.

"Excuse me, Theron?" he said softly, glancing at Merrill. "The Keeper requests your presence, and Merrill's, too."

Theron nodded, gently extricating himself from Merrill's embrace and quickly exiting the tent, Merrill close behind, falling in step with Pol as they crossed the camp. Pol looked up at Theron in wonder, a habit that had always slightly irked the hunter.

"Keeper?"

Marethari turned at the sound of Theron's voice, Duncan beside her. She nodded at Pol, who scurried back, away from the three.

"Ah, Theron, Merrill." Theron cocked his head slightly at the tone of Marethari's voice. It sounded... sad? Apologetic? He wasn't sure.

"You wished to see us?" he said, looking between the Keeper and the Grey Warden. Merrill was silent, watching Duncan's face curiously.

"I did." Marethari took a deep breath, as though readying herself to deliver bad news. "Duncan and I have come to an arrangement that concerns the both of you."

"The both of us?" Theron asked.

Duncan nodded, and when he spoke, his voice was grave.

"Indeed. My order is looking for recruits, and you are in need of a cure. When I leave tomorrow, I hope that you two will join me."

Merrill's eyes widened, her gaze flicking between Marethari, Duncan and Theron. Theron shook his head. He seemed to have missed something somewhere.

"What does this have to do with a cure?"

"You have been exposed to the darkspawn taint. The only way to cure it is to become a Grey Warden." Duncan explained.

"So I am to become a Grey Warden?" Duncan nodded. Theron considered for a moment. Then, he shook his head. "No. I will not join out of pity."

Duncan nodded, as though he had expected this.

"This is not mere charity on my part. Believe me, I would not offer this if I did not think you had the makings of a Grey Warden. Know this, though; if you come along, you will likely never see your clan again."

"Why Merrill?" Theron questioned. "She was not exposed to the taint. Why bring her into danger?"

"The Dalish mages are renowned for their prowess with magic, possessing skills not taught in the Circle. Merrill will be a great addition to the Wardens."

Theron looked at Marethari.

"Is the clan sending us away?" he asked.

"No. It pains my heart to send you away, but it would pain me more to see you stay and suffer because of this taint."

Theron turned to face Merrill, whose face was a mixture of shock and worry.

"What do you make of this, emma'lath?"

"I will follow you, ma vhenan, in whatever choice you make. I will admit I am not eager to leave the clan, nor to fight the Blight, but if you choose to do so, I will be at your side."

Theron was quiet for a long time, considering all the scenarios ahead of him. The clan was all he had ever known. He couldn't just leave them all, not with the Blight so close on the horizon. But, by the sound of it, he would live longer with the Grey Wardens than he would were he to refuse to go. The Grey Wardens were greatly respected in the world. To be asked to join their ranks was indeed an honor.

"Very well, I will join you." Theron said, feeling his heart break even as the words came out of his mouth. Merrill nodded, her face set with grim resolve.

"As will I"

Duncan smiled, bowing to them.

"I welcome you to the Grey Wardens. There have been few Dalish among the Wardens, but they have always served with distinction. Get some rest. Tomorrow, we march for Ostagar."

Theron and Merrill bowed, turning and walking away, feeling very much like they were heading to the gallows. Part of Theron couldn't believe what he had just agreed to, but the other half, the half that constantly felt the presence of the darkspawn corruption, knew that this was the right thing to do.

-x-x-x-x-x-

"I had not planned on giving you this for a few more years yet," Ashalle said, tears pooling in the corners of her eyes. "but it seems I have little choice. Come."

The camp was a flurry of activity. News of Theron and Merrill's impending departure had spread through the camp like wildfire, and every member of the clan had risen early to see the new Warden recruits off. Duncan was eager to leave, but had graciously allowed the elves to say goodbye to their clan.

Ashalle stopped at a large, ornate chest tucked behind her aravel. Reaching into a pocket, she pulled out a small silver key, turning it in the lock and lifting the lid.

"This was your father's." She explained, lifting a silvery shirt from the chest and handing it to Theron. "Mythril, crafted by the dwarves of Kal'Sharok. Light as a feather, and as hard as dragon's scales. I do not know where he got it."

The shirt was incredible to behold. True to her word, the article of clothing seemed completely weightless. The silver seemed tinted with a greenish hue that appeared in certain lights. Theron slipped off his own shirt, donning the mythril and replacing his tunic. The mythril fitted him perfectly, as though it had been crafted for him alone. He replaced his blades, buckling the straps around him. Theron looed at Ashalle, whose tears were now flowing freely.

"It seems only yesterday that you were running around camp, trying to find some sort of mischief to get into." she said, sobbing gently. "And now, here you are. I do not know what the Creators have in mind for you, but I hope this gift will give you some protection along the way."

Theron smiled sadly, walking forward and folding the elf woman who had been a mother to him his whole life into his arms.

"Thank you for everything, Ashalle." he whispered, his hands gripping her tightly.

"No, thank _you_, Theron." she replied. "Good luck, and may the Creators watch over you."

She turned and entered her aravel, unable to bear it any longer. Theron bowed his head and turned, walking toward the edge of camp.

The rest of the clan were waiting for him there, at the head, Marethari, Duncan and Merrill. As he walked thorough the crowd of elves, he could hear someone singing, a soft, simple melody.

_Hahren na melana sahlin_

_Emma ir abelas_

_Souver'inan isala hamin_

_Vhenan him dor'felas_

_In uthenera na revas_

_Vir sulahn'nehn_

_Vir dirthera_

_Vir samahl la numin_

_Vir lath sa'vunin_

As he emerged from the group, he saw Merrill walking toward him, her head bowed, tears tracking their way down her cheeks.

"Are you ready to go?" Duncan asked gently.

Theron sighed, looking back on his clan, on everything he was leaving behind.

"I'm ready."

"As am I." Merrill nodded.

Duncan nodded.

"Good."

Marethari stepped forward.

"It does not bring me joy to see you go, da'len," she said. "but your destiny is not here with the clan." She placed her hands on his shoulders, kissing his forehead lightly. "Bring honor to your people."

Theron didn't speak. He didn't trust himself, certain that if he did, he would buckle and refuse to leave. He nodded, bowed deeply, took one final look across the pained and saddened faces of the clan. His eyes settled on Merrill. She gave him a small, watery smile.

"Let's go."

Theron bowed his head, turned, and followed Duncan out into the world, Merrill close at his side.

-x-x-x-x-x-

The journey to Ostagar took little over a week, a journey that would have been longer without Theron's intrinsic knowledge of the Brecilian Forest. Once out in the open, it was a straight shot south through the Hinterlands toward Ostagar.

The Hinterlands were a dangerous place for travelers. Bandits roamed the foothills, preying on those too afraid to travel the depths of the Brecilian Forest. The small groups they encountered were quickly despatched by Theron and Duncan's blades and Merrill's magic.

"You have not yet named your weapons." Merrill noted one evening. Duncan looked up, intrigued. He had never heard of people naming their weapons before.

Theron looked at the blades and bow on the ground next to him. Reaching out, he picked up the bow, turning it in his hands.

This bow is strong and sturdy, as well as accurate, but holds a grace that has followed it from Arlathan." he said. "This bow shall be named Azkâr."

He placed Azkâr on the ground, picking up the dagger next.

"This dagger has been and will be a blade in the crowd, moving with blinding speed to fell these fell creatures we march to fight. I name this dagger Acharn."

Again, he placed the dagger on the ground, picking up his last weapon, the sword.

"Our immortal ancestors were master craftsmen, rivaling even the durgen'len, and this sword is proof of the mastery. This sword will be Urfael."

He placed the sword on the ground, feeling a sense of rightness as he did so.

Merrill smiled at him, placing a hand on his arm.

"They are good names, emma'lath. They will serve you well."

Duncan nodded.

"Indeed. If I may be so bold, may I ask why you name your weapons? Is it a Dalish custom, for I have never heard of humans or dwarves doing so?"

Merrill nodded, more well-versed as the Keeper's First in Elvhen lore.

"In the time of Arlathan, the Emerald Knights would name their weapons, to become one with their blades and bows. The Dalish seek to reclaim our lost culture, in whatever way we can. This custom is one we have adhered to for as long as any can remember."

"I see." Duncan said, nodding in understanding. "I am assuming, then, that you named your staff?"

"I did." Merrill said, running her hand along the length of her staff. "My staff is Vir Tasallan."

-x-x-x-x-x-

Along the way, the travelers learnt many things about the each other. Theron and Merrill learned of the Grey Wardens, their history and purpose, and in turn told Duncan the little the Dalish knew of themselves.

Duncan had to admit, he was more than impressed with the young elves' knowledge of Thedas' history and the people of Ferelden. One conversation, though, had caught him completely by surprise.

They had been talking about the Ferelden Rebellions...

"_The Dalish were not a part of the Rebellions, were they?" Duncan asked, as they ate a rabbit stew Theron had prepared, crouched around a small fire._

"_No." Theron answered. "The closest elves came to the Rebellions were the Night Elves. The closest the flat-ears have ever come to reclaiming their history."_

"_So you haven't had much contact with humans, then?" Duncan asked. Theron shook his head, lifting another spoonful into his mouth. "There will be a lot of humans at Ostagar. Not all will treat you as they should, I trust you know this?"_

"_It is to be expected." Theron shrugged. "The last time we were in contact with humans before a few days ago was when Maric was crowned King."_

"_Wait," Duncan said. "you remember Maric's coronation?"_

"_We do." Merrill acknowledged._

"_How?" Duncan asked. "That was almost thirty years ago, and the two of you look no older than twenty, twenty-five at most."_

_Theron laughed._

"_A common misconception about the Dalish is that the quickening affected them as strongly as the flat-ears." Merrill said, a small smile on her face. "The Dalish have shunned human contact for so long, we have not been as quickened. We are not immortal, as our ancestors were, but we are still the longest-lived of all the peoples of Ferelden. We will easily live for two Ages."_

_Duncan's eyes widened. He had not known this. The Dalish were so secretive, and so many stories of them floated around, it was difficult to differentiate truth from fiction._

"_How old are you, then, if you don't mind my asking?"_

"_This summer will be our forty-third." Theron said, no trace of a joke in his voice._

_Duncan stared at the elves. They didn't look any older than Alistair, yet they were almost as old as the commander himself. Frankly, it was difficult to wrap his head around._

_Theron, clearly, had realized this._

"_It is difficult for your short-lived species to comprehend, I know." Theron said._

"_You've certainly got that right." Duncan muttered. He stared into the fire for a while. "Clearly, we have a lot to learn about the Dalish. I look forward to our journeys together."_

"_As do we both." Merrill said, smiling slightly._


	7. Chapter 7

Two days later, the massive fortress of Ostagar loomed suddenly out of the horizon. A massive construct, made entirely of stone, the entire fortress was a testament to the power of the Tevinter Imperium. Theron and Merrill had heard only a handful of stories of the place, for stories of the Tevinter Imperium were rarely shared among the Dalish. It had been commissioned by Archon Ishal, to defend against possible invasion of Ferelden by Chasind Wilders from the south. It had been abandoned after the Second Blight, when the threat from the Chasind had dwindled.

"Impressive, isn't it?" Duncan asked, as Theron's eyes swept across the massive structure.

"I have heard stories, but the reality..." Theron's voice trailed off.

"There's an entire army here?" Merrill asked.

"The King has been gathering his army for the past two weeks here." Duncan said as they walked toward the main gate. "The darkspawn have attacked every night, and a few small bands have tried during the day as well. So far, the King has held them at bay. It is crucial that we hold the fortress, for if we lose Ostagar, Ferelden will fall."

Theron felt a small sense of foreboding settling in the pit of his stomach. Duncan's words had a certain resonance about them.

"Surely that's a good thing, though?" he asked. "The darkspawn haven't broken through the fortress yet."

"True, but it is only a matter of time before the Archdemon makes an appearance. If it does, there is nowhere to go here. The loss of life will be enormous."

Duncan had told the elves of the Archdemon on the journey from the Brecilian Forest. An Old God, found and corrupted by the darkspawn, it took the form of a fearsome dragon, laying waste to everything in its path. Theron had no desire to meet it in combat, not yet, anyway.

They continued forward in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. It was Theron who noticed first, his keen Elven eyesight giving him an advantage over Duncan.

A group of people were walking toward the main gate. Three people, to be exact. Two were glad in grey iron armor, their faces obscured by helmets. These soldiers were flanking a man clad in golden armor, a sword almost as long as he was tall strapped across his back.

Duncan's eyes widened as he also noticed the welcoming party.

"What is the King doing out here?"

The Warden Commander and his recruits quickened their pace, closing the distance swiftly.

"Ho there, Duncan!"

They drew to a stop in front of the man in gold armor.

"King Cailan!" Duncan said, a note of surprise in his voice. I wasn't expecting a - "

"A royal welcome?" Cailan suggested, chuckling slightly. "Our scouts saw you approach. I was starting to worry you would miss all the fun."

"Not if I could help it, Your Majesty." Duncan said respectfully.

"Then I'll have the mighty Duncan at my side in battle after all. Glorious!" Cailan looked at Theron and Merrill properly for the first time now. "The Wardens told me you had found promising new recruits. I take it this is them?"

"Allow me to introduce you, Your Majesty." Duncan started, but Cailan cut across him.

"There's no need to be so formal, Duncan." Cailan said, stepping in front of Theron. "We'll be shedding blood together in battle after all. Ho there, friends! Might I know your name?"

Theron watched the King closely. He was young, for certain, and a had a boyish excitability about him. Not a quality Theron would have expected of one in his position. Neither did he fit the portrait the clan had drawn of humans, that of arrogant, self-serving sycophants with no concern for anyone but themselves.

"I am Theron Mahariel, of the Sabrae clan, Your Majesty." he said carefully.

"And I am Merrill Alerion, also of the Sabrae clan, Your Majesty." Merrill added. The king nodded, smiling at them.

"A pleasure." His eyes roamed Theron and Merrill's faces, taking in the intricate detail of their facial tattoos. "You are Dalish, are you not? I am told your people possess remarkable skill and bravery."

Theron's eyes narrowed. It seemed to him that the King was overcompensating. He had to wonder just how the two of them would be treated within the fortress.

"And what would you know of my people?" he asked, a little more harshly than he had intended. He was aware of a small sigh escaping Duncan's lips, and the king's guards tensed slightly. Cailan, however, seemed to have taken no offense. Merrill simply watched, though her hands were flexing, no doubt ready to conjure up magic at a moment's notice.

"Embarrassingly little, I'm afraid." he admitted. "I look forward to learning more about your culture in the weeks to come. Know that you are most welcome here. The tales of the Dalish Elves' skill with a bow are legendary." He inclined his head to Theron and Merrill in turn before turning back to Duncan.

"Your uncle sends his greetings and reminds you that Redcliffe forces could be here in less than a week." Duncan said.

"Ha! Eamon just wants in on the glory!" Cailan scoffed. "We've won many battles against these creatures already, and tonight shall be no different."

Merrill tilted her head slightly.

"You sound very confident of that."

"_Over_confident, some might say, right, Duncan?" Cailan said, laughing easily. The man's disregard for the danger of the darkspawn unnerved Theron. The man was clearly well-liked, but did not seem like the type of person who should be leading the fight against the Blight.

"To be honest, I'm not even sure this is a real Blight." Cailan continued. "We've seen plenty of darkspawn on the field, but alas, no sign of an Archdemon." There was a note of longing in his voice, a note that made Theron's confidence in the king decrease with every syllable.

"Disappointed, your Majesty?" Duncan asked.

"I had hoped for a war like in the tales." Cailan replied, the childish excitement returning again. "The King of Ferelden riding with the fabled Grey Wardens against a tainted God. But, I suppose this will have to do." There was a pause, before he added, "Well, I had better return to my duties before a search party gets sent out. No doubt Loghain waits to bore me with his strategies. Farewell, Grey Wardens."

Theron and Merrill bowed, albeit reluctantly, as Cailan turned and left, followed by his guards. Duncan waited until he was out of earshot before turning to his newest recruits.

"What the King said is true; they have won several battles here."

Theron snorted.

"Your king is a fool, to make light of the threat to the land so. He is not the King I envisaged him to be." Merrill nodded in agreement.

Duncan sighed.

"That is true." Duncan frowned slightly, lines etching in his face. "Despite the victories so far, the darkspawn horde grows larger with each passing day. By now, they look to outnumber us. I know that there is an Archdemon behind this, but I cannot ask the King to act based solely on my feeling."

"What would you have him do?" Merrill asked of the Warden.

"Wait for reinforcements." Duncan replied simply. "A call was sent out to the West, to the Grey Wardens of Orlais, but it will be many days before they can join us. Our numbers in Ferelden are too few; we must do what we can, and look to Teyrn Loghain to make up the difference. To that end, we should proceed with the Joining ritual without delay."

Duncan had explained this ritual, whereby recruits would become fully fledged Grey Wardens. Theron had got the feeling that Duncan wasn't telling him everything, though, and Merrill felt the same. The Grey Wardens were highly respected throughout Thedas, and that did not come from being blasé about who they recruited.

"What would you have us do?"

"There is another Grey Warden here by the name of Alistair." Duncan said, gesturing aimlessly around the camp. "Seek him out. You may explore the camp as you see fit. I only ask that you not leave it for the time being."

Theron nodded.

"I understand."

"If you need me, I shall be at the Grey Warden camp, near the King's tent." Duncan said. "Be careful. There are many people here who have not encountered a Dalish elf before. None will attack a Grey Warden, but keep your guard up all the same." With that, he turned and crossed the bridge.

Theron stepped forward, looking out over the bridge at the gaping chasm beneath. Men ran back and forth, the sun flashing off their armor. Thick black smoke rose from the pyres, bringing with them the stench of burning flesh. Beyond the chasm, Theron could see the tops of the trees that dwelt within the Korcari Wilds, home to the Chasind tribes, Witches and fearsome creatures. The darkspawn were not the only threat here.

-x-x-x-x-x-

"You there, elf! Where's my armor? And why are you dressed so preposterously?"

Theron spun round, seeking the owner of the voice. A large man was glaring at Merrill, his body much too close to hers. In two strides, he had backed the man against his wagon, a blade pressed to his throat.

"You dare to address her so, human?" Theron growled, his patience wearing thin already. They had been in the camp barely an hour, and had so far received little other than fearful looks, or hostile glares. Some had managed to conceal their true feelings, but most were as easy to read as an open book.

"I – you – what?" the man stuttered, his eyes wide, tilting his head back, trying to put some space between the knife and his throat. "Oh, Maker! You're the new Grey Wardens, aren't you?" he asked, his eyes darting over Theron's face. "Please, forgive me, I..."

"Save your apologies, human." Theron snarled, removing and sheathing the knife. The man exhaled deeply, running a hand across his neck, checking for incisions, shifting uncomfortably as Theron fixed him with a piercing stare. Merrill stepped forward, her eyes boring into the quartermaster.

"Could – could I interest you in some supplies, perhaps?" the man offered, hoping this would suffice as a peace offering. He hoped wrong.

"Do you mock me, human?" Theron asked, causing the man to step back again. "I suggest you treat your servants better in future."

"Of course, of course!" the man flustered, wishing the elves would leave.

Theron gave him one last withering look before turning and stalking away, sitting himself down on a rough wooden bench several feet away, watching the soldiers practicing. Merrill sat herself next to him, placing a hand on his arm.

Duncan had told them to expect hostility, and they had. Theron had hoped when they set out that the hahren's stories of the humans would be proven wrong, but so far, he had been proven very much right. He watched a couple of Elven servants running back and forth, delivering messages and parcels like trained dogs, serving masters who considered them less than animals, led by a king who was as much a child as he had been the day he learnt to walk.

"Do you think it was a mistake to come here?" Theron asked, his gaze sweeping across the courtyard.

"I don't know." Merrill said, sighing. "I miss the clan, Fenarel, Pol, Lillaethe, even Marethari. I miss Tamlen. But we have a duty now, one that we cannot shirk from. We have to prove ourselves now. We are not the First and the Chief Hunter anymore."

The courtyard was similar to the clan's encampment in the Brecilian Forest, but this did not make the elves feel at ease. Near the entrance, mages prepared, magic glowing around them under the careful watch of Chantry Templars. Closer, a priest stood atop a raised platform, reciting prayers in a loud voice while soldiers knelt before her. Near a large wooden gate, several Ash Warriors convened, though the nature of their conversation was unknown to the elves.

As Theron watched the soldiers, his eye was drawn to a young woman practicing with two daggers. Her style was unique, to say the least, implementing flips and kicks between strikes, a far cry from his own fluid, focussed style. He had to admit, he was intrigued. The woman possessed a great deal of skill.

"Look." he said, pointing at the woman. Merrill followed his direction, her eyes landing on the dagger wielder.

"Impressive." she remarked, watching with interest.

"Wait here a moment." Theron said. Merrill nodded.

He stood, walking over to the practice ground, stopping a few feet from the woman, watching her effortlessly string attacks together, fighting off multiple imaginary foes. Her short, dark hair whipped around her head as she fought, her movements quick and sharp.

She turned suddenly, bringing a dagger swinging through the air. Almost instantly, Theron drew Acharn, bringing it up to block the attack. The woman's eyes widened in surprise as blade met blade with a loud, metallic clang. She stood frozen to the spot, her eyes darting across Theron's face, a habit common among humans, it seemed. However, her eyes held no fear, or malice, just acceptance, and a hint of curiosity.

Theron slid his blade along the length of hers, spinning the blades around, breaking the block. The woman continued to stare at him.

"You have some skill with a blade." Theron remarked as he sheathed his dagger.

The woman gave him a small smile as she did likewise.

"Thank you. I learnt long ago that a woman who cannot wield a blade can still die upon one, as can their families." She held out her hand. "Hawke. Marian Hawke."

Theron nodded approvingly as he gripped her hand, shaking it firmly. Hawke was different to the other humans around camp. There was no air of superiority about her.

"Theron Mahariel." Theron said. "A pleasure."

Hawke's eyes widened in recognition.

"You're the new Grey Warden. One of the new Grey Wardens." She looked at him, a hint of sympathy in her eyes. "Is the other recruit here?"

Theron nodded, gesturing towards Merrill.

"Merrill Alerion."

Hawke nodded.

"Another of the Dalish. The two of you are a long way from home."

Theron sighed as he looked around the camp.

"Right now we wish we were still there." he said.

"You'll get used to it." Hawke said, glancing at the man Theron had intimidated earlier. "Most humans know little about the Dalish, and even fewer have seen one. As a species, we tend to fear and despise the unknown."

"But you don't?" Theron questioned.

"Life's too short to waste hating each other." Hawke replied. "Unfortunately, you will find few others who share that outlook."

"You sound familiar with the Dalish."

Hawke shook her head.

"I know only a little. Old stories, told by my father. It is rare to see one of your people."

A moment of silence passed between them.

"Spar with me?" Hawke asked suddenly.

Theron chuckled.

"As much as I would enjoy to do so, I'm afraid Merrill and I have business elsewhere." he said, genuinely disappointed. It was already past midday, and they still had to find Alistair, as much as he would like to test his fighting style against Marian's. "Another time, maybe."

Marian brought a hand to her head.

"Of course, you probably have important Warden business. I won't keep you, Theron. I look forward to fighting alongside you."

"As do I." Theron said, bowing slightly, his mood greatly improved. Well, it seemed there was an exception to every rule.

As Hawke turned away, drawing her daggers again as she went, the sound of raised voices drifted across the camp. Theron turned to see the quartermaster, bellowing at an elf not three feet from him. Merrill had twisted round on the bench, watching, glancing back at Theron expectantly. With a sigh, Theron grabbed Azkâr from his back, drew an arrow from his quiver, aimed and fired. The arrow buzzed across the camp, embedding itself with a dull thud in the wagon behind the quartermaster, inches from his head. The man jumped, looking around wildly. His eyes locked with Theron's, who was still holding his raised bow, his eyes blazing. The man turned bright red, and when he spoke to the elf again, his tone was much softer.

Progress.


End file.
